The Prince & The Idiot
by Listelia
Summary: - "Idiot, idiot, idiot", are chanting children in the muddy street. Arthur stops, a bit dazzled. He brings his hand to his forehead to shield his eyes and his heart aches watching their dancing figures in the steaming light. They hop in circles around a tall, skinny boy with large ears, who spins on himself to smile at them ... (you can watch this story trailer on youtube)
1. That's how the story began

\- "Idiot, idiot, idiot", are chanting children in the muddy street.

Arthur stops, a bit dazzled. He brings his hand to his forehead to shield his eyes and his heart aches watching their dancing figures in the steaming light. They hop in circles around a tall, skinny boy with large ears, who spins on himself to smile at them ...

\- "Sire?"

Arthur flinches and comes back to the present time. He nods at Sir Leon who observes him with a slightly worried look and strides on.

The melody fades away. The children have disappeared, evaporated amid the market stalls.

The king goes down the main street of Camelot, his long red coat waving behind him, the sun hung in his blond hair, and he feels more alone than ever.

* * *

_It was so many years ago._

* * *

He is barely twenty and goes heckling down the same street in the fresh spring air filling Camelot.

\- "Idiot, idiot, idiot ..."

He glances at them distractedly, busy laughing out loud and playfully punching with the knights. They are just kids with threadbare clothes and screeching voices, doing a round around a distraught teenager.

\- "Poor lad", sighs Sir Leon. "He's Gaius' ward. Must have been sent on an errand."

But he doesn't do anything, only frowns as they pass by the group.

\- "He's not the sharpest sword in the armory", someone adds, somewhat sad.

Maybe it's just because for a short time Arthur believed the knight was speaking of _Gaius_ in these insulting terms, but he stops to look more closely at the scene.

Dust particles dance in the sunlight of late afternoon, glittering like golden grains around the lanky figure who stumbles, trying to face his torturers.

Untidy black hair and large ears, angular face and slender shoulders that do not fill his jacket, rangy legs like a young colt and thin arms desperately protecting the bag of herbs.

Arthur smiles, amused.

Then the boy turns towards him, looking over the heads of the children circling and chanting their mischievous song. Two cobalt orbs fringed with dark eyelashes meet the prince's sapphire irises.

\- "Idiot, idiot, idiot ..."

Arthur does not really know why.

_Maybe it's that resigned countenance. Perhaps the mute interrogation in the deep blue eyes. Maybe just because a knight must not ignore injustice, however small it may be._

He steps forward, breaking the circle.

\- "That's enough, leave him be."

The children scamper off like a swarm of crows, but the scrawny boy stays, his chin dropped on his chest, shoulders slumped like if he's expecting to be punished.

\- "What's your name?" asks the Prince gruffly, after clearing his throat.

A surprised glow hovers on the protruding cheekbones.

\- "Idiot?"

Arthur frowns, gives a pat on the bony shoulder - and the friendly gesture but too overdosed almost throws the teen to the ground.

\- "No, your _real_ name."

Two cobalt orbs look up at him shyly under the thick dark lashes. Then a big smile widens on the face of the back-haired boy.

\- "Merlin."

\- "Merlin", Arthur repeats thoughtfully. "Well, _Mer_lin. Next time, don't get yourself entangled with these brats. Hurry up and go home. Your guardian must be waiting for you."

A hurried nod, then the boy with big ears scurries off, still cradling the bag of herbs.

\- "Gaius will be grateful", Sir Leon says with an odd smile, as if he was not quite sure why Arthur chose to intervene. "The lad came here a few days ago with merchants from Ealdor. Apparently his mother was a friend of Gaius and entrusted him to the old man before she died."

Arthur does not pay much attention to what the man says, he only heeds the fact this was helpful to Gaius. He likes the old Court physician, who watched him grow up. _And it is cowardly to assault someone weaker than oneself._ He is not kind to his servants, but he considers himself fair. You do not have to be mean to prove that you are strong. A scene like the one he has just witnessed is just cruel, it's not like ordering his manservant to stop whining when he holds the target for practice or ignoring the grimaces of pain on the young squires' faces after hours of training.

To be firm, even borderline severe, to make fun of others and to do not indulge in sentimentality builds the character of those who show too soft.

But those innocent blue eyes simply can not defend themselves.

_They do not understand._

Merlin belongs to another world, and Arthur is quite pleased he's not part of it.

He has almost forgotten that market day when the avenging dagger flies in the Great Hall and, at the last moment, someone hurls him down, pushing him out of danger.

And he is speechless when his father decides to place the one who saved him at his service.

_Merlin._

Of all people present in the room, it is the gawky boy who spends his time on Gaius' heels who is the _only one_ who saw the singer attack.

Arthur goes to Gaius the next day to clear up the misunderstanding. Certainly, he is grateful, but it is out of question that he will embarrass the old physician. It is obvious that his ward will not renew such a deed anytime soon and the prince does not want to bother with a useless servant who won't even last a week at his service.

The chamber filled with vials and potions is bathed in dawn parchment light. It smells of thyme and hawthorn, and of books leather bindings.

He plants himself in the middle of the room, arms crossed and legs spread, waiting for the old man to be back, and suddenly, up the narrow staircases, the door of the loft opens.

A tousled head, still half asleep, peeps out, then the blue eyes sees the prince and the lanky boy rushes down the stairs towards him.

\- "Arthur!"

There is so much joy and anticipation on the angular face that the young man takes a step back, a bit unsettled.

He clears his throat.

\- "Merlin."

\- "D'you need somethin'?"

He uncrosses his arms, raises an eyebrow.

\- "Hum. Uh ... Well, actually, yes. I ... where's Gaius?"

\- "Gone."

\- "Obviously."

The prince nibbles the inside of his cheek.

\- "Look, Merlin. I ..."

_I don't want you._

_You won't do._

_I can't spare time to be nice, nor afford to treat you differently from the other staff._

_I'm sorry, but that's not possible. I need a capable manservant, one who can go with me everywhere and won't bring me shame..._

He suddenly blushes when he figures out he has not even given _a_ chance to Gaius's ward.

_"Idiot, idiot, idiot ..." chant the children in his head._

He straightens, uncomfortable, clears his throat, puts on his most royal pout.

\- "Merlin, if you want to be my manservant, you have to be with my breakfast in my chambers _before_ I get up. It makes no sense that _I_ should come get _you_ here when I need something."

\- "Yes, sire!" Merlin replies promptly with a smile that goes up to his big ears.

And Arthur feels laughter bubbling up in his throat.

* * *

_That's how the story began._

* * *

It was not easy and sometimes Arthur wondered _what_ went through his mind on that day.

_Lightening?_

_Madness ?_

_The desire to stand out?_

_Magic?_

Merlin is barely able to perform the simple duties of a kitchen boy. He is so clumsy no day passes without the sound of him tumbling down the stairs in a clatter of armor pieces. He is almost never on time, has no idea how to dispose a meal on a tray according to the etiquette, and the way he sorts clothes in the wardrobe is a mystery in itself: the prince has given up trying to find them on his own. To take him hunting means returning empty-handed and training with him is about as effective as fighting against a bag full of dirt.

And above all, he never _shuts_ up.

All day long, he chirps continuously, comments on things, people, the weather outside, with inexhaustible cheerfulness.

Arthur thought it was _nervousness_ at first. But he was wrong and Gaius merely raised an eyebrow when the prince complained, as if he did not see where the problem lay. Sir Leon actually _guffawed_ at him.

Apparently whether servants or nobles, everyone knew – everyone but Arthur, who finds it a little upsetting.

But then, when he starts paying some attention to the incessant chatter, he doesn't mind anymore.

Merlin doesn't just _babble_. He tells a lots of things that you might want to know. He sees everything, he hears a lot of gossip and no-one is wary of him. He sorts people in his own way, those "nice" and those "creepy", which makes the prince collapse with laughter, especially since the appraisal is often close to the truth.

Merlin has no idea of what's _proper_. He's afraid of the king's big voice and stands silent, his head bowed and his hands clasped in front of him when he's in the same room - which mercifully keeps him away from trouble - but he has no such aloofness in front of the heir to Camelot, however.

_Sire._

_Arthur._

_Your Pratiness._

_Dollophead._

All names hold the same value to him and Arthur's worries quickly evaporate: oh, he can behave quite normally with Merlin. In fact, the gangly boy is surely the only person with whom Arthur can really _be himself_.

Merlin is honest – more sincere than anyone else. If he is not happy, you will know. He mumbles and grumbles and complains – his socks are wet during the hunt, he could not sleep well because Gaius snored, someone ate the pie Cook had put aside for him, there is too much laundry.

\- "_Me_rlin. Do you really wish _that much_ to muck the stables?"

\- "Nope."

He never lies: the concept seems completely foreign to him. Arthur noticed it after asking the boy to come up with an excuse for him while he went for a tryst with a princess who was a guest to the castle at the time. When the prince returned from his flowery afternoon, he found his manservant shampooed with rotten vegetables. Merlin expressed his disgust with the stocks, but he did not hold a grudge against Arthur and happily agreed to cover up for him the next day as well - ending the day at exactly the same place.

The thing happened many times again, since then.

He is the cheekiest and the most faithful domestic of them all. He follows Arthur everywhere, teases him, protects him, relentlessly serves him in his clumsy and stubborn way.

At the end of the first week, Arthur understood that if he did not send his manservant home with a clear order, Merlin would spend the night sitting in the corridor, his arms crossed over his knees, his bony cheeks nestled in the crook of his elbow, ready to answer at first call.

The prince is pleasantly surprised to discover Merlin is able to help him don his armor correctly from his second day of work. He does not know that Gaius and Guinevere, the maidservant of his sister Morgana, spent hours with the lad. After his disastrous first morning - _out of patience, Arthur threatened to get rid of him_ – Merlin, lips tightened so not to cry, went with long strides to the girl's house to beg her to show him how to do it properly. Gaius served as a dummy, giggling when the boy tickled him while looping the belts. They did their best to cheer him up and were rewarded with the stunned face of the prince the next day and Merlin's beaming smile when he found out they had watched his deed.

Merlin loves tournaments. He claps his hands and whistles excitedly, rushes when the fight is over to pick up the helmet of his master and take his sword. He seems convinced of Arthur's invincibility and of his incredible resistance to pain, and the prince, flattered if a little worried, has decided not to disabuse him.

There is something extremely exhilarating in this boundless adoration, something strange that awakes in Arthur the desire to prove that he _is_ the man Merlin sees.

It's not like proving his value to his father – the prince bitterly acknowledges that it probably never going to happen. It's not like when he's jousting with the other knights, eager to show his worth to the oldest and to dazzle the squires. No, it's different, because his father calls him a young fool or condemns his slightest weaknesses, because nobody at the Court or in the army would never dare to tell the truth to the prince about his actual fighting level - or his personality. His "friends" flatter him and are careful not to upset him, but he heard them talking about him when they thought he's wasn't there: an unexperienced rooster with big muscles and a disproportionate ego, who will never stand a chance when he accesses the throne…

_A prat of petty scale._

Since he learnt what people thought and said behind his back, Arthur throws himself headlong in the tournaments, in search of a sense of reality.

_A fair and great king._

He has a dream and, for the first time in his life, he met someone who believes in it.

So he wins his fights. For Merlin, for himself, for the love of Camelot.

And he does not see that it makes him change gradually.

A month after their meeting at the market, he's flabbergasted when it turns out he was right to give a chance to Merlin about Sir Valiant, when his manservant, ears red with emotion, had rushed in his room telling the far-fetched story of a cheater slipping snakes in the chain mail of his opponents. Fortunately, Sir Leon had gone ahead and made discreet inquiries before taking the matter to the attention of the king. Without evidence, Merlin would have been in serious trouble - and Arthur would have been terribly humiliated.

Later, when a courtesan attempts to assassinate Uther Pendragon during the banquet of alliance with King Bayard, Arthur does not have time to consult with the more serious of the knights because Merlin jumps in directly, triggering a scandal in the Great Hall. Arthur tries to protest, to remind his father of the mental impairment of the young servant to appease his anger, but he can not prevent the two sovereigns from glaring at each other and deciding Merlin will drink the cup he claims poisoned.

Two cobalt orbs fringed with dark eyelashes gaze trustingly at Arthur, convinced that he _will_ be saved, once it's proved he was right.

So when the frail figure collapses, the prince pays no attention to the outraged racket of the room. He picks up the oh so light body of his manservant and storms out not worrying of what will be said or the fact his father requires him to be there during the negotiations with Bayard. And when Gaius, frantic, tells Arthur only a certain plant with yellow leaves can save the boy, the young man does not waver for a second. He braves the wrath of the king, saddles his horse and dives into the night resolutely.

On the cot, Merlin is tossing, burning with fever, and he whimpers softly.

\- "Ar'th'r ..."

When the prince returns, Uther, beside himself with irate, throws his son into the dungeons to punish him, but Arthur doesn't care how his pride will suffer in the weeks to come, when he will face people in the upper class again. No, he has only one thought in mind: saving Merlin.

_Two blue eyes gaze at him ..._

Someone believes in Arthur and he is not about to fail that trust.

It is Guinevere who comes to the rescue and steals the flower under the nose of the guards. This is the first time he talks face to face with his sister's maidservant. He did not know she was so courageous, so audacious ... so beautiful.

His world is about to turn upside down, his priorities are reversed, he sees what he never looked at, he hears what had always remained in silence, and Arthur guesses it will not last for long. But he is not afraid. Instead, a soft, warm hope throbs in his throat, an adventure thrill more attractive than any of the quests he pursued before, the sense of being fully alive.

Later, when his father lets him free, the prince doesn't wonder why he finds himself in Gaius' chambers, sitting by the fireplace next to that idiot who has become much more than just a manservant.

Merlin smiles, hooded in his blanket, still weak after this ordeal.

The flames dance in the cobalt orbs shaded by thick eyelashes. He does not ask questions, he does not say thank you either, so Arthur has no need to pretend he had a thousand reasons to try saving him.

It's so easy to be yourself when you're loved just like you are.

* * *

**_TBC_**

* * *

_**Based on episodes:** _**_01x01, 01x07, 01x02, 01x04 _**


	2. From Winter to Spring

**FROM WINTER TO SPRING**

* * *

A year goes by.

People got so used to seeing the heir to Camelot followed by his scraggy servant, and to hear their playful banter that they tell tales of it during the long hours of winter nights.

_The Prince and the Idiot._

Gaius and Sir Leon are probably the only ones to have noticed, but the peasants have taken a liking to the king's son. The one who used to be carefully avoided - the prat with treacle brains – has become the child they dot on. They keep nodding a lot - _oh, he still has much to learn!_ \- but they glance indulgently when he passes by, offer him an apple or a smile, and they hope.

If it continues like this, Arthur will be different from his father, who crushes the people with taxes and suspicions. Uther Pendragon sends innocents to the pyre under the pretext of practicing magic or having a different faith, he shows no mercy to the pleas of the villages around, whether they ask for help in times of famine or when they're subjected to bandits raids.

Arthur has made a friend, a commoner named Lancelot, who has all the qualities to become a knight and whom his father flatly refused to dub because of he did not have a title of nobility.

It was Merlin who met Lancelot first, one day he was collecting herbs for Gaius. The young man saved him from a wolf and was wounded. Merlin, who brings back to the old man ill tramps and abandoned kittens just the same, begged his master to meet Lancelot: "he's a true knight, Arthur. You'll love him!"

Arthur was forced to admit Merlin was right, _again_. Lancelot and he got along right away - after a duel that left the prince dripping with sweat and happier than he had been for days. Finally an opponent worth his strength - and who fears not to tell him off, even if he does it with more subtlety and tact that a certain manservant.

The young man with black eyes, who never seems in a hurry and often chuckles to himself, also won over Guinevere's heart. He did not stay long in Camelot, but he shows up from time to time and takes Merlin fishing.

One summer evening when the heat was crushing the city, he asked the physician to explain his ward's condition. Arthur listened silently, leaning against the doorframe, his sleeves rolled up on his folded arms while Guinevere and Merlin were playing with water in the courtyard, screaming and giggling like two kids.

Gaius explained Merlin was born like that. _Simple-minded_. And it was never going to change, even if he opened to the world and learned more and more how to fend for himself.

Lancelot said nothing for a moment, then he told them he once had a little brother and that a terrible fever had left the child idiot at the age of eight. That the villagers had never accepted the boy and he was constantly tormented by them. And how, someday, a thrown stone had striked his temple and he had died.

Arthur slipped into the hallway during the story, so he wouldn't have to maintain his impassive mask, and he's happy to have done so when Gaius concludes Merlin was very lucky his mother was able to protect and educate him.

\- "Merlin can read?"

\- "And he _likes_ it", the old physician answers, nodding with a smile and lifting his chin toward the shelves where thick volumes bound in leather are piled up.

\- "Does he write as well?" marvels Lancelot.

\- "He could, if he did not mix all the letters in his words ..."

The next day, Arthur dictates Merlin a note for his sister, then tries to read the result, without success: all the letters are here, but definitely _not_ in the right order. Sir Leon walks in while he's deciphering and merely nods gravely when the prince, embarrassed, tells him what it's about.

\- "It is _something_ that he can read, it is quite rare for a servant", says the knight. "_Guinevere_ can read and write. My mother gave her lessons."

That information is stored in a corner of the young Pendragon's brains, who forgets it when the beautiful Sophia, a mysterious stranger met on the edge of the forest, flings her curly eyelashes at him.

It takes Merlin to save the day, once more. He does not like the lass, classifies her under the "creep" category as soon as she takes three steps into town. Lancelot is the only one who believes him, of course. He follows the prince and when the beauty tries to drown her drugged boyfriend, the pure hearted commoner jumps in reeling his sword. Merlin has quite a few swils of silty water, but it is him who gets his master out of the lake. On the shore, Arthur is miffed to the highest, but he is safe.

\- "It was not _even_ a princess", Merlin mutters.

Uther will not know his son had almost lost his mind - and his life.

The king has other fish to fry with a new tournament in order, and one of the participants being a black knight he thought dead long ago. The man who hides his face behind his dark helmet wins his fights one after the other, defeating his opponents with relentless cruelty. Arthur's father is quite glad his son has volunteered to patrol the borders of Camelot, because he'd dread to see him face his former rival.

What he does not know is that the prince is still in Camelot, under another banner, participating in disguise to the tournament. Arthur has made up his mind, he thinks the other knights go gentle on him during training and is tired of not being able to be himself with others. Lancelot would disapprove if he was here, but it's one of those moments where he's gadding around the country in search of a quest. Merlin, uneasy, is torn between his loyalty to his master and the tickling in his nostrils, like a sneeze close to hatch, which is a sign that he should talk to Gaius. He trots from the tent to the forge, tries to explain to Guinevere that something is wrong, but she does not listen. The fact Arthur has chosen to hide in _her_ home seems to have make her go haywire: she sings and tucks flowers in her hair like a crazy Dryad. Merlin watches her in awe – and disbelief – as she encourages the prince to prove his worth while scolding him for his bad manners.

Arthur, who has never been treated this way and who certainly sees Guinevere in a new light, basks in this scarlet and golden dream ... which suddenly shatters on the fifth day, when he comes face to face in the final with the Black Knight.

His battered helmet rolls in the sand of the arena and he shakes his head to get rid of his blonde hair soaked with sweat under the chain mail. Uther stiffens on his throne, but he can not intervene.

The opponent of the prince proves loyal and also takes off his helmet. A flurry of amazed exclamations gusts upon the stands: the mysterious warrior is _a woman_.

Her golden hair traps the sunlight rays and her almond-shaped eyes are cold as ice. She is beautiful, but Merlin hisses like an angry cat when he sees her. The knight was a "creep" but this creature is a whole new category by herself: "bad, uh-uh, very bad."

Arthur sneers, sitting up, his sword heavy down his tired arm. He rolls his shoulders under his steel pauldrons and prepares to continue the fight.

_It's only a woman, there's no way he's going to lose._

_It's only a woman, but she won over all those she faced so far ..._

On the other side of the fence surrounding the arena, Guinevere nibbles her thumb nail and Merlin squeezes his arms around his waist. Gaius has approached them with his mother-of-all-frowns, but now there's only concern on his face as he compares the women's features with those of the king.

_No doubt. He knows who she is._

_He also knows that if Arthur learns the truth, he will never be the same._

Uther anxiously watches the moves of the two opponents. It is excruciating that he cannot hear what they say in between gasps.

\- "If you win this fight, young Pendragon, I'll tell you the truth about your mother's death ..."

\- "Do not believe you can sully her memory!"

\- "Oh, but it is not _I_ who have dishonored her ..."

The woman's voice slithers into Arthur's heart like a poison. She is swift as a snake and fatigue fills his boots with lead. He stumbles, he falls. The tip of the black sword pricks his throat, thin and sharp like a stained glass shard.

\- "Come ... tonight, when the moon rises..."

Arthur simply blinks under the glaring sun. Sweat drips down his eyelashes and on his chin, like tears.

She pulls away her sword, extends her hand to help him up and receives the cheers of the crowd while a murderously looking Uther can only applaud with his teeth so tight they squeak and startle Lady Morgana next to him.

The girl frowns. She soon understands there _is_ a secret, a secret her father would give anything to keep hidden. She is keen, daring, stubborn and bold. All her life she dreamed of an adventure, of a world where she would be free - not just a pretty doll exhibited under a velvet canopy on bank holidays.

She slips through the tents, catches a glimpse of the figure in shimmering black armor that greets Arthur before settling on the saddle and getting away with a smirk towards the king who seethes in silence.

Arthur is confined to his chambers - he deliberately disobeyed by not going to the border - where he paces like a caged lion. In his distress and anger, he tells his sister the enigmatic words of the woman. Morgana has a plan to get him out, but this plan requires an accomplice who will bring Arthur a rope so he can escape through the window. It will be Merlin, _good Merlin_, who always looks at her with his round blue eyes, full of admiration, who brought her flowers when she was sick, who does not scold when she dreams aloud of what she could do and be, if she was allowed a sword and could roam the world.

Morgana loves her maidservant, but Guinevere is too reasonable. Merlin is afraid of Uther, but he will comply to her orders if convinced it is for the good of Arthur.

At nightfall, hidden under their hoods, brother and sister sneak out of the castle and ride to the woman-knight's rendezvous. They leave the servant to guard the horses and hasten to the grove.

The lady with golden hair is there, in the pale moonlight, and her eyes sparkle like glazed opals in the darkness. She does not speak for very long, but her suave voice pierces their souls and seals their fates.

Her name is Morgause and she is the daughter of their father, born after the latter betrayed Ygraine during a starless night, when the intoxicating perfume of vine flowers was heavy in the hot breeze of late summer. When Lady Vivienne's husband discovered she bore a child that was not his, he dressed in his black-ink armor, rode to Camelot and demanded compensation. The king defeated him in a duel by the rules, but the damage was done. At dawn the next day, the servants discovered the queen at the foot of the tallest tower, her face as white as her silk dress, among the roses splashed with crimson tears.

Ygraine did not die giving birth to Morgana and Arthur would have had a mother if Uther had not yielded to this foolishness.

Merlin does not understand why they seem so close to crying and yet their eyes are dry. He tries to talk, but he's ignored, so he just rides beside them, wishing he could give them some warmth. His blue eyes have launched a last glance at the woman with a heart of ice and he decided: he won't let her come near Arthur _ever again_. He follows his master to Camelot and assists, terrified, to the confrontation between father and son. He does not know that Morgana's silence is far more dangerous than the rage that drives the prince against Uther.

When the king manages to make Arthur see reason, after hours of their swords clashing with silver sparkles in the great hall, when the exhausted prince collapses and cries finally, like a child, in disappointment and sorrow, Merlin thinks it's over.

He does not know that in Morgana's room, the princess contemplates a dagger she holds tight in her hand until a thin trickle of blood runs down her wrist. Her dainty features are frozen in a deep expression of hatred and her porcelain skin glistens in the moonlight, like Morgause's face.

Everything is so different, after that night.

Morgana smiles and she picks flowers that she braids in crowns, simpering and clinging to her father's arm as if nothing had happened. Arthur roams the castle like a ghost, barking orders scathingly. He does not come to Gaius' chambers for ages and ignores the invitations to come to the croaked oak that Lancelot sends him when he returns from his wandering.

Merlin tries to cheer up the prince, but it looks like he does everything wrong. He mixes up vials and instead of putting salt in the bath, almost poisons it – Gaius fortunately finds out just in time. While setting up one of crossbows that adorn the walls of his lord's room, he accidentally fires a dart that scratches his master's ear. The strap of Arthur's saddle gives up while he parades in the courtyard and the humiliation is total. Exhausted by the stress he undergoes because of his misadventures, Merlin falls asleep in the stables he was sent to muck and when he wakes up, all the horses have run away.

This time, it's enough. Arthur, infuriated, decides he no longer needs Merlin and hires the horrible Cedric, the boot-licking bearded manservant who persecutes Merlin when he has the misfortune to come down from the royal floors.

His eyes brimming with tears, straws stitching into his hair and dung matting the whole left side of his face, Merlin runs away without looking back. Gaius founds him in his tiny bedroom, sitting on the edge of his bed, his hands clutched on his jacket.

\- "What happened?" asks the old man, gently wiping the dung smudged on the boy's face and neck.

\- "I'm not an idiot", Merlin rasps bitterly.

The court physician's heart sinks. He keeps cleaning the dirty cheekbone with a cloth.

\- "No, you're not, Merlin", he says firmly.

He will later joke about the smell or the mess of the servant's clothing which could suggest that, yes, he _is_ an idiot. But for now he just sighs and pats the boy's shoulder to comfort him. He cups in his hand the angular chin and lifts it to him.

\- "One day Arthur will see you for what you really are", he says, enfolding his ward in a fatherly look.

\- "But _when_?" soughs Merlin, his throat knotted.

Gaius shakes his head. He looks so grave in his long green robes.

\- "I don't know. But I am certain you and him are called to a great destiny and you are going to serve and protect him for years ..."

Merlin's jaw is still trembling and his lips pressed against each other to stop the crying.

He has grown up so much since he first arrived in Camelot. Gaius leans over and kisses his forehead despite the muddy tracks smearing the pale skin of the boy he loves like his own son.

\- "Sleep, Merlin. Things will be better tomorrow."

But that's not quite true. Tomorrow turns into the day after tomorrow, then into the week that comes next. It takes _so many_ _days_ until Cedric reveals his true nature. Arthur catches him chopping black snakes and forcing children to swallow the heads. The uneasiness in his guts tells the prince something is worst than the disgusting cooking. He warns his manservant that he condemns such barbaric practices and will be forced to fire him if he finds out it was done again. Later, while hunting, when a wild boar charges at the heir to Camelot – whose foot is stuck in a rabbit hole and who has already planted his spear in the backbone of the beast, not slowing it down the least – Cedric makes a run for his life and disappears. During the few seconds when he believes he will die eviscerated, memories scroll before the eyes of Arthur: other hunts where Merlin, his big ears red of fear and blue eyes owlishly staring, did not back down an inch in front of the onslaught of a wild beast, staying close to his master to protect him.

When he returns to the castle – safe and sound, because the other members of the party were not completely useless – Arthur has decided. He fills a bag with the pieces of his armor and goes to Gaius' chambers.

There is something of his former supercilious smile on his face when he announces to Merlin that he will have to clean the armor for the next day.

\- "So that means you admit I was right?" quips the boy with the impossible joyful grin that make stars sparkle in his eyes.

_Why does Merlin _always_ forgive him?_

Arthur coughs embarrassingly and leaves with a scoff.

He will not say out loud that _Merlin_ was right, but he knows deep inside that _he_ was wrong.

The year is coming to an end and the harsh and long winter is almost over. It will soon be spring again. The snow melts in icy droplets along the gutters. The streets of Camelot are mined with muddy ruts in which trundles a cart topped with a wooden cage.

Behind the bars, a girl shivers in her rags, crouched on a moldy bed of straw.

People come out of the tavern and she watches them without saying anything. Her scruffy long brown hair falls over her shoulders and her wrists are bruised by her chains. She stares out, like if she wasn't really here.

\- "Who is this?" Merlin asks, stopping and cocking his head to try to catch the eye of the prisoner.

For a moment, two chestnut colored irises meet intrigued cobalt orbs.

Lancelot and Gaius turn and exchange a pained look.

\- "Come here, my boy", calls the old man, extending his hand.

Lancelot goes back and drives away the lad, gently but firmly.

\- "She's a witch", whispers the young man. "Or at least she was sentenced as such. The king will have her executed tomorrow."

Merlin stops again and his haunted eyes cast a glance towards the cage.

\- "Like Cedric?" he utters, ashen.

Gaius purses his lips.

It was proven that Arthur's former manservant was indeed a sorcerer, a few months ago, and the sly man died on the pyre. Merlin was traumatized - Arthur too, but not for the same reasons.

\- "But ... it's not a witch! It's just ... a _girl_", the boy protests, breaking free from Lancelot's hand.

\- "Come on", insists the old physician. "You can't help her."

They go back home, but Merlin does not even sit on his bed. He paces in the alcove until Lancelot, who's lying on his makeshift mattress on the floor, crosses his arms behind his neck and lets out a long sigh.

\- "Shall we go free her? I would like to sleep and if it's all it takes to calm you down ..."

He was half-joking, but the boy's smile immediately melts away his last doubts. When the town clock strikes midnight, Lancelot finds himself in the cobbled street, trying to shear off the chain locks, swearing through his clenched teeth. Merlin has put his hand in between the bars and touched the ankle of the prisoner curled up in her tattered dress. They gaze at each other in wonder, like two souls that were lost and meet again after a long journey.

When guards show up around the corner, Lancelot has just the time to dive behind two ringed barrels. Merlin and the girl disappear in the night, light as two elves. They're holding hands.

Lancelot sighs again, then he hides his tools under his coat and goes home rubbing his neck. He feels strangely happy, but he is not quite certain he made the right choice.

The next day, the whole city is upside-down, looking for the witch, and the old physician rolls terribly suspicious eyes at the young man who yawns in front of his porridge. Merlin has already nipped off to Arthur's chambers, but before he left, he told Lancelot the girl is called Freya.

_And that she is beautiful just like a princess._

Later in the day, when Arthur meets his friend, he asks absently if Lancelot knows what's happening to Merlin. He has never seen his manservant so distracted: he almost scalded the prince with his bath and during breakfast, his guise was of one lying.

Now, everyone knows, Merlin _can't lie_ for the life of him.

Lancelot easily dodges the question, nonchalantly inquiries about the progress of the witch hunt. Arthur rolls his eyes and his shoulders sag.

\- "Another of my father's whims", he sighs. "That poor girl probably doesn't have the slightest magic in her. It seems she was found covered in blood in a barn, next to a dead man."

He looks away and Lancelot understands what he does not say.

\- "I guess she is more to be pitied than the actual victim ..."

Merlin cries, that night, curled up under his blanket to muffle his sobs, and by the candlelight, his friend looks at him with a heavy heart.

Freya surely told him her story.

The next day, it's a frustrated Arthur who almost bumps into Lancelot, going down the main street of Camelot.

\- "Have you seen Merlin?"

\- "No", Lancelot answers honestly, before seeing something that turns his blood cold.

In the distance, at the corner of a stall, guards have grabbed a lanky boy dressed in a red tunic and a brown jacket. The prince turns round, intrigued, and his eyes widened immediately. He rushes up the street to the tussle and arrives just in time to prevent the sergeant from thrusting his fist into the terrified face of Merlin.

\- "This one knows something!" bellows the guard when his prey is snatched from him.

\- "He robbed you, Your Highness!" trumps the other soldier, pointing at the sausages that have mysteriously disappeared during Arthur's breakfast and are now scattered on the dirty pavement in all their glory.

The prince clears his throat. His eyes blaze with authority.

\- "This is my manservant, I speak for him. Let him go. Get your hands off him, I say."

The two men leave, grumbling, and Arthur turns to Merlin who is getting up, his heart pounding in his chest, after carefully picking up the sausages.

\- "_Mer_lin?"

\- "I just want to make sure you don't get fat!" stammers the manservant, smiling awkwardly, not knowing his left eye blinks rapidly and his cheekbones are flushed.

_Oh it is so easy to see through him ..._

Arthur nods, resigned and amused despite himself.

\- "Scram."

And when the impossible long legs of the boy have taken him far enough from the bystanders, he turns to Lancelot.

\- "Don't you have something to tell me? Why is he acting like this?"

Lancelot looks as innocent as he can manage.

\- "I know nothing", he says.

He gives a chortle at the prince's disappointed snort and runs along before he has to betray either of his friends. On his way to Gaius' chambers, that night, he meets Guinevere and it is his turn to feel his heart pounding. She accepts that he walks her home and carries her basket of mending to do. He listens to her babbling, amazed, answers in monosyllables because, like every time she is near him, he doesn't know where his brains are gone.

\- "Do you know what's coming over Merlin, these days?" Guinevere asks in the midst of her one-sided conversation. "I saw him getting out of the Lady Morgana's room with a dress, just now. He told me there were _moths_ in the castle."

In the distance, the warning bell is resounding and Lancelot suddenly figures out what's happening.

_Merlin is going to run away with the girl._

_How high are the chances he will be caught in the act and condemned to death with the witch he wanted to save?_

He hastily leaves Guinevere who does not understand why his face is suddenly so dark, and runs all the way home. Breathless, he breaks into Gaius' chambers and finds the old man, sitting at the table, his head in his hands.

\- "Where's Merlin?"

\- "He's gone", quavers the physician. "It's that girl, isn't it?"

Lancelot nods, his throat clogged with panic. He seeks his sword, grabs his cloak and goes searching the streets, desperate. It is night already. He hears calls and barking, sees the light of torches on the walls, hides in corners to avoid being seen, roams the back alleys and whistles Merlin's favorite tune behind the piles of barrels or under the timber chariots.

But he does not find his friend and fatigue adds to his growing fear with each passing hour. When dawn rises above the thatched roofs, gleaming brightly on the white stones of the crenels, haloing the towers in golden warmth and hope, Lancelot begins to breathe a little better. He leans against a pillar under an awning, to rest a little.

Merlin must have successfully fled out of the city, in one way or another. If he had been arrested, there would have been shouting and shoving, somewhere.

The morning is crispy cold and the breeze has a tangy taste.

It's the fragrance of the newborn spring.

\- "They're here!"

His heart makes a looping in his chest and hangs back painfully. He straddles through an empty stall, climbs over a collapsed stone wall, gets into a dead end, climbs on top of a cottage, jumps into a pigsty, hustles two women coming out of the bakery with warm rolls and runs until he feels a painful stitch to his side and his throat scraped by the taste of blood, and his ears wheezing.

The soldiers are in front of the castle, where the well-trimmed lawns give way to a large field of weeds. There, almost at the edge of the forest that will be their refuge, two figures are hurrying away, holding hands.

Arthur is standing among his men and his lips are pinched. He raises his crossbow, leans the wedge against his shoulder and closes one eye. He has the woman in his firing angle. He could hit her leg to keep her from running away ... and make sure she's brought back to the castle to be burned in the courtyard, as his father ordered.

Something churns in his stomach.

_The poor girl does not deserve such a cruel death, regardless of her crime - if she really _is_ guilty._

Then he makes his decision and pulls the trigger.

_It is better to kill her cleanly, to strike her in between her shoulders. She won't suffer long._

The wail of agony reaches his ears at the very moment someone grips his arm violently.

\- "Arthur, _no_!"

He looks up, surprised.

\- "Lancelot?"

The young man's eyes are filled with horror and he shakes his head.

\- "Arthur, this is _Merlin_ ..." he pants.

The prince raises his arm to stop his men, almost as a reflex. The wisps on his neck stand as he turns back to the field.

The woman has fallen, but for a second, he catches sight of the red tunic and brown jacket dangling on the frail frame that looks like...

_Gods ... Merlin ..._

He finds the strength to send the guards away with a brief order, a little breathless. They do not argue. Some of them glance at him, slightly startled, but the others seem rather relieved that he put an end to the quarry.

Nobody likes witch hunting and the soldiers know they're due to Uther's madness more to the real need of protecting the kingdom.

Lancelot does not wait for them to be all gone and hastens toward the couple. Arthur follows more slowly, his crossbow simmering at the end of his arm.

He dreads what awaits him at the edge of the forest.

Haggard, on his knees, Merlin is hunched over a girl barely older than him, with tangled long brown hair, who contemplates him gently, as if she doesn't feel the wound in her back. Blood slowly soaks what used to be one of Morgana's dresses, which the girl wears like if she was royalty.

\- "There must be something I can do to save you!" Merlin stammers through his tears.

She smiles. She doesn't have the strength to raise her hand to stroke his cheek, but there is so much warmth in her voice that Lancelot and Arthur feels her tenderness as if it enveloped them too.

\- "You already saved me ... You showed me I was loved ..." she answers fondly.

Merlin's shoulders are shaking with sobs.

\- "I don't want you to go!" he begs in a hiccup.

\- "One day, Merlin… we'll meet again ... I promise ..."

Her eyelashes flutters lightly on her cheeks, hiding her chestnut-colored irises, as innocent as Merlin's eyes and he lets out a muffled cry.

\- "No ... no ..."

He rocks her, hugging the slumped frame, presses her face against his shoulder, stroking the long tangled curls and weeps, weeps like he's never going to stop, as if it were the end of the world, silently and quietly, like a wounded bird.

In the silence of dawn, tree leaves rustle gently and raindrops fall on Arthur's face. The sun hems the field in gold and dyes the wild grass in pale purple.

Everything is so beautiful, so perfect. So terribly sad.

Lancelot moves very slowly, as not to upset the delicate balance of this great sorrow. He crouches down and puts his hand on Merlin's shoulder.

\- "Come. We must say goodbye before the guards demand her body ..."

Arthur blanches at this sentence and almost convulsively turns to the city behind them.

_Yes. His father will claim the remains of the witch. He needs to create a story to divert his attention from the accomplice who helped her escape._

He bends over.

\- "Let's take her to the lake", he tells Lancelot.

His friend nods and suddenly Merlin looks up with his red-rimmed eyes.

\- A lake?

The prince gathers all his strength not to flinch in front of the pain he reads in the cobalt orbs.

\- "Yes, Merlin. A lake. It's not far from here. We will build her a raft and send her off to Avalon, like a queen ..."

Merlin nods gravely, his arms still tightly hugging the girl who is not breathing, her pale face leaning against the boy's shoulder like if she was simply asleep.

\- "She was a real princess, Arthur ..."

\- "I know."

Lancelot helped a bit when he saw the skinny legs buckle under the weight of his load and emotion, but it was Merlin who carried Freya all the way to the lake. When he lays her down onto the moist and dark green grass, panting, his neck painful and his arms numb, Lancelot starts looking for branches and finds an old boat by the bank. He pulls it up and checks it does not leak while Merlin gets loads of heather. Then he makes a bow and looks for flint stones on the path. Arthur disappears for a while and when he returns, he brings a bouquet of clumsily picked flowers, with too short stems and slightly wrinkled petals, that his manservant receives as if it were a priceless gift. They preciously put Freya in the heather bed and arrange the flowers around her, as good as they can.

When everything is ready, Merlin smoothes one last time the beautiful dress, lightly press the bruised wrist.

\- "Goodbye, Freya…" he whispers, leaning over to kiss her on the forehead.

Lancelot and Arthur help him to push the boat to the middle of the lake, then come back to the bank. Arthur hesitates, then he turns silently towards Lancelot, with a beseeching look.

_You do it… I can't. Not after what I've done…_

His friend nods wordlessly. He sets the improvised arrow in fire after a few failed attempts, and bends the arc.

Merlin is standing with water up to his knees, his eyes staring at the boat that goes away.

The golden shot swishes across the sky and reaches the target that ignites without a sound.

Merlin's blue eyes are filled with tears that who no longer stream down his hollow cheeks. He does not move, only shudders. Arthur does not dare to approach to tell him to get out of the bloody frozen lake. There's a clot in the back of his throat and he wonders if there would be such despair on Merlin's face, if it was _him_ in the boat.

It is Lancelot who gets the manservant out of the water and gently leads him back to the castle, to a warm fire, to Gaius.

\- "Merlin, if I die someday ... will you do this for me too? Can you send me off to Avalon in a boat on the lake, like Freya?"

Merlin nods in a daze. He leans more heavily against Lancelot who half carries him and continues to whisper words of comfort.

Arthur follows them and feels so useless and dirty and guilty he does not even know what to do with himself. He goes back directly to the Great Hall, once he's seen – through the ajar door because he did not dare to come in – Gaius who was swathing Merlin in his arms, softly saying "I'm sorry, my boy, I'm so sorry ..." in the room bathed in parchment light.

Uther is quite pleased to know they got rid of the sorcery threat, but sorry to learn the accomplice jumped from a cliff and disappeared into a flooded river. Well, in the end, Camelot is safe, all is fine, and he pats his son's shoulder with approval.

Arthur stiffens. He greets his father then returns to his chambers where he spent the rest of the day looking through the window. The next morning, his decision is made.

He ignores Merlin's puffy eyes and gives him all of his boots and those of his garrison to polish in retaliation for stealing his breakfast. And when he is about sure his voice will not falter, he sits next to his manservant and shoves his shoulder.

\- "I'm sorry, Merlin ..." he says quietly.

The boy turns to him and something which looks like the shadow of that smile that lights up people's lives passes over his face.

\- "It was not very nice of you to dump that pitcher of water over my head", he assents very seriously.

It takes a few seconds for Arthur to remember that's what he did the day before – seems like it was a thousand years ago.

\- "We're even: you said I was _fat_", he retorts in an unsteady voice.

_"You know very well this is not what I'm sorry for, Merlin ..."_

The cobalt orbs shaded by dark eyelashes contemplate him gently.

_"I know."_

Then Merlin tilts his head to the side and the sun plays in transparency on his ears lobes, glossing in his messy black hair and on the wooden floor of the room.

\- "But you _are_ fat."

Arthur is about to scoff, when he feels laughter tickle the back of his throat. He hesitates, then allows himself to mirror Merlin's smile.

Outside, spring slowly warms up the thatched roofs and the white stones of Camelot.

The year is over and they are still here, together. Despite everything.

* * *

_**TBC**_

* * *

_**Based on episodes: **_**_01x07, 02x02, 01x09, 02x08, 04x06, 02x01, 02 x09 _**


	3. Of Mead & Clobbers

\- "Rise and shine!" trumpets Merlin's voice and Arthur groans, sinking back deeper under the covers.

_Why__ so much energy in the morning? It's ungodly ..._

The manservant draws open the curtains and the sun invades the room, spilling its warm light on the polished furniture and the breakfast table in a smell of bacon and fresh loaf from the bakery. Arthur inhales the delicious scent, but refuses to open his eyes and get out of his cocoon. He fumbles around in search of something to throw in the direction of the intruder, but is forced to crack open an eyelid when he finds nothing.

\- "Mmm…Mr'lin ... g'way ..."

\- "Get up, Sire!" tweets the manservant, undaunted. "The day's beautiful and you have work to do!"

In the next five seconds, he _will_ pull the quilt in one go and send Arthur to the floor like a sheet-twined sausage.

Or perch on the bed casually, and _that_, that means only one thing.

_Oh no, not__ AGAIN ..._

The prince rolls to his side and opens his eyes, wrinkling his nostrils, dazzled by the sun playing in his spiking-in-all-directions blond hair. He lifts himself on his elbow, putting his naked arm over the vermilion velvet blankets.

\- "_Mer_lin. _Do__n't_ tell me you got another one."

The servant grins, his sharp cheekbones almost hiding his blue eyes sparkling with mirth. He half-opens his jacket to preserve the surprise, then puts on the bed a ball of gray and tawny fur that sputters angrily.

\- "She was in the armoury. Cute, innit?"

Arthur moistens his lips and pinches the bridge of his nose, taking a deep breath.

\- "It's a bloody _cat_, Merlin."

Why is it that these wretched animals always end up crossing paths with his manservant? It's not sorcery the king should ban but feline romance! In two years Merlin was at his service, the Prince has seen _hundreds_ of kittens. There's no way he'll manage again to smuggle one to Cook to drown it quietly : the woman would have a stroke.

All the villages surrounding Camelot are equipped with rat-catchers for the next three decades and the knights have warned Arthur that they do _no longer_ believe in his fibs (he told them cats were the ultimate key to mollify a lady's heart).

The prince sighs, scratching distractedly the small pointed ears of the kitten that staggers on the scarlet quilt, her tail straight in the air like a hazel catkin.

It's his _dogs_ that should be sleeping in the bedroom and wake him with their yapping, like any other young nobleman fond of hunting. This is what would be _normal_ for a virile king's son. But the hounds almost devoured Merlin alive the only time he tried to set things right ...

\- "Merlin, you can't save all the cats in the kingdom. You have to let natural selection do its deed."

It's a lost cause, but he keeps preaching it, hoping that one day will come when he is not woken up in the morning by a feeble meow - like a _girl_.

_Ha. An idea._

\- "Why don't you ask Morgana to keep it?" he asks with renewed incentive, sitting up and swinging his legs out of the four-poster bed.

\- "Guinevere forbid it", pouts Merlin, indignant, while slipping the sleeves of the linen tunic over his master's arms.

Arthur rolls his eyes and puts on his boots.

_Guinevere is a _genius_ to have achieved this._

He goes to his breakfast tray, picks up a cherry tomato on the plate and gobbles it up while thinking. On his bed, the kitten walks in circles, squealing plaintively.

\- Anyways, I can't keep your new best friend. And, _no_, Merlin, this is not a gift, and I will _not_ accept it. Do whatever you want, but get rid of it before I come back from the Council."

The manservant's ears flop down as he glances towards the cat he had hoped to settle in the prince's chambers and play with every morning. Then the cobalt orbs lighten mischievously.

\- "Uh-oh."

Arthur frowns and turns round before gasping in disgust.

\- "Ha, he pissed!" he yelps. "No, _Mer_lin, not _again_! Get this vermin out of my room right now! _Shift_! And I warn you, if you ever bring another one again, I'll _slay_ it!"

Merlin hurries to remove the kitten by the scruff of her neck and flees into the corridor, leaving the prince alone with his breakfast and a lovely fragrant yellowish halo in the middle of the mattress.

_Good thing he's got people to do the laundry ..._

At noon, the case is not yet forgotten. Arthur has decided he has to hit hard if he no longer wishes his bed to be used as a latrine for the stray cats of the kingdom. He sends Guinevere to the terrace to get his manservant who is hanging out the sheets flapping in the wind to dry them, and orders Merlin to prepare their horses and food for several days: the weather is nice and his father does not need him for forty-eight hours so he has decided to go hunting.

Merlin drags his feet and grumbles, but he can not help but obey. From his window overlooking the courtyard of the castle, Gaius shakes his head, amused, watching them leave. He holds in his arms the kitten rescued by his ward. Perhaps this family in the lower town will enjoy the gift of the creature doomed to all the torments by Arthur: they are street vendors and they have a little girl the old physician treated for her bad cough.

Gaius is starting to run out of ideas to dispatch the blasted cats ...

Two days later, the prince and his manservant come out of the Eastern woods, mucky and tired, and gaze at the village below. The nice weather has given way to a warm drizzle and the chimneys are smoking under the dull sky.

\- "Do you know what's more enjoyable after a hunt?" asks Arthur, resting his crossbow against his shoulder.

\- "A bath?" Merlin ventures, sulking. "Sleeping?"

He carries several dead beasts – gray furry rabbits and pheasants hung on a hemp thread like beads on a necklace – and his face is smeared with dirt. He is cold, wet and he hates the smell of gamy meat that surrounds his load.

\- "A nice tankard of mead!" says the prince still in a hopelessly good mood. "See the pointed roof, there? I bet it's a tavern. Let's go!"

They get their horses from the clearing where they slept and go down the hill to the quiet village nestled in the valley. Merlin is rumbling again: public places make him nervous, he prefers a thousand times to gather herbs for Gaius in a dark corner of the forest rather than going to the market. The prince, who is still on a pay-back scroll enjoys hearing him rattle on his heels and goes in the tavern after tying his horse to the fence outside.

\- "Now, remember", he whispers one last time, "I'm just a boorish peasant like everyone else in here."

\- "Boorish part's right", Merlin mutters under his breath, following his master, his nose on his worn-out boots.

\- "What did you say?" Arthur asks, sitting down at a table after a satisfied look around.

\- "I said mead's all right."

The young man gives a big slap on Merlin's shoulder, and the boy rubs his arm with a pained look.

\- "Oh, but _you_ are not drinking mead!" grins the prince. "You believe you're a goblin after guzzling three drops of cider, I don't wish to tempt fate."

It is very lively around them, there are roaring of laughter, strong odors and dice games. A man sucks his soup noisily, some others are watching what might be a dung beetles race, a drunkard is dozing on the edge of the counter, his hair matted with what can be remnants of vomit _or_ porridge.

\- "What'll it be?" asks the matron, approaching to wipe the table with a cloth as dirty as her apron. Her opulent chest joggles almost out of her dress and Merlin stares at it, his eyes slightly bulging.

\- "A tankard of mead for me and a cup of goat milk for this one", coughs Arthur, kicking his manservant under the table.

The woman goes away after whispering "aren't you one handsome fellow?" to Merlin who blushes to the tip of his protruding ears when her dress grazes his shoulder.

The Prince is on the verge of exploding with laughter when he hears the tenant send her maidservant to "get mead to the blonde one with mouse teeth." He's mortified and Merlin giggles uncontrollably, muttering something about Arthur's dislikes for his cats.

Then a big burly man smelling of urine and boiled leather walks across the tavern and bullies the fat lady. Arthur hears the call of chivalry - or perhaps has drunk his mead too fast - and stands up to defend the woman's honor.

\- "Get out, brat, if you don't want to be fed to the pigs", growls the man with the scarred face, giving a grim look at the bulky blonde who thinks he's stuff of legend.

\- "I'd like to see you try", chuckles Merlin in the suddenly very quiet room, drawing all eyes to him and getting a scolding frown from Arthur.

\- "Oh, you had to open your big mouth, didn't you, _Mer_lin?"

Next thing they know, the whole place is a mess. Benches are flying, fists crushing cartilage, there is blood, bile and beer everywhere, plates shattering and the tavern has turn into a melee like the one that took place in Camelot a few days ago – minus the swords, fortunately.

Merlin sneaks into a corner after distributing a few kicks and dodged a substantial number of strokes: he's lithe and so thin that it _is_ difficult to aim at him, even from close. From behind the counter, he flings mugs at the fighters and helps the matron to save the jugs that are still in one piece, until someone calls out to him.

It is a young bearded man with brown hair billowing around his face with style, even though he seems to fight while being drunk. Taken by surprise, Merlin gives him the pitcher he's asking for and, stunned, watches him quaff large swigs of mead before slamming the jug on the head of one of the pugilists.

\- "What do they call you, then?"

\- "Merlin", stutters Arthur's manservant, fascinated by the masterly way in which the bloke strikes down his opponents while looking bored.

\- "Gwaine. Pleasure to meet you!" states the man before resuming to the fight with delight.

He grabs a ruffian three times bigger than him and twists his arm behind his back, knocks out another, swirls in the melee kicking with knees and elbows skillfully and ends up back to back with Arthur who smiles despite the sweat dripping down his face and continues to smash the rogues with the back-up of the young man who is clearly of a different kind than the rest of the customers.

Five minutes later, it's over.

The man who assaulted the fat lady is pinned to the ground by Gwaine who has hurled him down before he could stab Arthur.

\- "Thank you, my friend", says the prince, holding out his hand.

\- "Gwaine's the name, mate", snorts the young man getting up with a sassy smile that quickly turns into a grimace of pain.

\- "He's hurt!" Merlin cries, rushing to him – and bumping his forehead against the edge of the counter when he stoops to pass under the board instead lifting it.

\- "Ouch", sighs Arthur wearily, before monitoring his manservant who ties a cloth around the wound, and ordering someone to put the thug who started this mess in the stocks. People mutter, not quite sure who he thinks he is, but they obey.

When Arthur takes this air of authority, he always gets what he wants. Merlin calls it "his majestic voice."

When the tavern is about tidy - the prince himself helped to put back the tables on their feet – two peasants hoist Gwaine on Arthur's saddle and the prince leaves after promising the villagers Camelot _will_ come to their help if they ever need it again ... He is incredibly cool when he drops that they have "his word, the word of the king's son" and Merlin would smirk if he was not so worried about the injured stranger.

Back at the castle, Gaius sews nicely the not too serious gash and Gwaine spends the night in the small bedroom. The old physician subjects him to interrogation the next day and learns he is the son of a knight from Caerleon's army. Gwaine begs him to conceal his identity, he would much rather be a vagabond and does not want to tie himself to land or master. There is bitterness in his jaunty voice, something resigned that Merlin does not understand. The manservant came back from Arthur's chambers all excited. Uther wants to thank Gwaine in person, but the man turns down the reward and simply enjoys the free lodging for the few days of his convalescence.

Arthur visits him, laughs and shoves shoulders with him, exchanges tales of brawls and girls, trying to convince him to stay. He sees in Gwaine the same loyal and courageous soul he found in Lancelot and really struggles to accept his new friend will be gone when he could stay and become a knight – which is forbidden to Lancelot.

Gaius would like his chambers to be back to a sanctuary of science and rare herbs, rather than being the extension to the tavern where Arthur can not go because of his status. The day before Gwaine's departure, the old physician sighs as he's putting blankets on the shoulders of the two men asleep, their tankards of mead still in hand, then he slips into bed, wondering where Merlin's gone when his master is _here_, completely drunk.

Arthur dreams of what his life could be if he was not the son of Uther Pendragon, if he didn't have to face every day the man who is responsible for the death of his mother, if he didn't need to stay away from people he feels at ease with, and in his heavy slumber, his lips are sadly pinched.

Meanwhile, Merlin has other worries. The king has two guests, knights the boy immediately put in his "creepy" category. Sir Oswald and Sir Ethan may have perfect manners among the Court, they behave like two hogs with the castle staff. Sir Ethan made Guinevere cry and wash her mouth ten times at the fountain and now she trembles like a leaf every time she hears his voice down corridor. Merlin's arms are aching from carrying the heavy trunks back and forth, he never got time to eat and his lower back burns, where Sir Oswald's whip scourged him when he was not fast enough to bring the man his armor.

The next morning, he is late to bring Arthur his breakfast and the prince, who has a hangover, acts quite shabbily with him. When he leaves the room with a tray of dirty dishes, tears well up in Merlin's eyes and he's clenching his jaws angrily when he bumps against Gwaine who's wandering the castle, snacking on an apple.

\- "What's up, mate?" kindly asks the young man, peering at the manservant's dreary face.

\- "Nothing", grunts Merlin, hiding the frustrated sparkle in his blue eyes under his long dark eyelashes.

\- "Is it something the royal prat said?" Gwaine insists.

\- "No", mutters the boy who runs off, not realizing that he limps a little.

In his anger when discovering his bath was tepid, not hot, Sir Ethan has thrown him against the door, this morning, and his hip hurts.

_They're nobles, it's useless to complain_, has repeated Guinevere last night, while brushing the soap-soaked tunics she was washing as if to crush them.

Merlin only comes to understand that Arthur _really_ is a good master, even though he often pitches things at him.

Arthur has never thrown a _knife_ at him.

Arthur makes fun of him when he's exhausted during the hunts, but he slows down his horse and calls for a break.

Arthur locks him under his armpit and knuckle-shampooes him sometimes, forces him to don a far too big armor for his thin frame and makes him hold the target when he practices the mace - which it's terrifying - but he has never _hit_ him just to be mean.

Merlin is miserable and he does not know who to talk to.

Gaius seems annoyed and answers in monosyllables, immersed in his sorting of vials.

The Prince and Morgana are having lunch with the king, and Guinevere and George are serving them.

The lanky boy brings the tray to the kitchen, then he slides in a corner in between two columns in the courtyard, and buries his face in his folded arms.

Someone sits down next to him and an elbow settles on his shoulder, unceremoniously friendly.

\- "What's the matter, mate?" Gwaine asks.

Merlin wipes the tears smearing his chin.

\- "I'm fine", he says hoarsely.

Gwaine scratches his eyebrow, chewing on nothing, then he throws back his brown curls and his white teeth smile in his beard.

\- "I reckon you're not", he says simply.

The ripple of the hooves of a horse entering the courtyard interrupts him.

\- "MERLIN!" roars a roguish voice.

The gangly boy stands up immediately, his body tensing. Gwaine stays crouched behind the white column to observe the scene.

Sir Oswald dismounts and complains of who knows what, a boar or the bad weather. He grabbs Merlin's slender shoulder and shakes it so hard he could dislocate it. The young man frowns and gets up.

\- "You all right, Merlin?" he inquires grimly.

The manservant's cobalt orbs beg him silently. Sir Oswald eyes Gwaine up and down scornfully, snorts disdainfully at his mended clothes.

\- "Scram", he barks.

\- "I'm not talking to you", says Gwaine in a threateningly composed voice.

He puts his hand on Merlin's shoulder and his look becomes icy when he feels the tremor that shakes the frail body of the boy.

\- "I thought I told you to go to hell", utters Sir Oswald, angry and incredulous at the lack of attention payed to his orders.

\- "Let's go, Merlin", says Gwaine, dragging away the manservant.

Sir Oswald shivers with ire and draws his sword out, earning a hiss of despise from Gwaine who turns back.

\- "You'd attack a man from behind? So not only are you a swine, but also a coward."

The knight surges forward in front of Merlin's horrified gaze, but Gwaine loosely dodges the attack and chortles sarcastically, driving his opponent mad.

When Arthur and the other lords come out in the yard, a few moments later, Gwaine is presently teaching a lesson to Sir Oswald with _his__ own_ whip that was rolled against his saddle.

The king is outraged and calls the guards who quickly separate the two men and force Gwaine to kneel on the cobbled ground. Merlin bits his lips in despair, entangling his hair with a helpless gesture. Arthur frowns and when Sir Oswald is done giving his version of the events, the prince intervenes before his father condemns Gwaine.

Surely, the young man who saved his life at the tavern deserves to be allowed to explain himself.

Gwaine acidly describes the scene he has just witnessed, and to Uther's surprise, Morgana steps forward to say her maid also suffered ill-treatment from the knight.

It is not enough to release Gwaine, however, because a commoner has no rights to hassle a noble in front of the law. Arthur wracks his brains to pull the hot-blooded fool out of this mess, but he is short of arguments and sees coming the moment when his father will banish Gwaine from Camelot at the very least, if he doesn't actually hang him.

This is when Gaius walks through the crowd at his slow pace, his long purple robes brushing the cobblestones with the dignity of a wise old man. Unmoved - and placidly ignoring the fulminating glances that throws Gwaine at him - he explains the man is of noble blood.

And everything suddenly changes.

The king relents, suggests Sir Oswald could clear the affront in a duel with swords, and the day ends with the sudden departure of the humiliated and furious knight.

Merlin is beaming, Arthur mumbles someone should have let him know his people were in troubles, Guinevere smolders Morgana with a grateful look and Gwaine shrugs. He crakes one last joke, flirts with the maidservant under the suddenly much less brotherly gaze of the prince, pats Merlin's shoulder with fondness, then picks up his bag and goes off, just like he had said he would.

Gaius gets back the usual quietness of his chambers and smiles like an old prophet, looking out the window at the figure of a generous tramp who disappears down the main street of Camelot.

Who knows, maybe one day Gwaine will return.

When Arthur will be king ...

A king worthy of the loyalty of a man who is still seeking his right place in this world.

* * *

**_TBC..._**

**_Now, this chapter was supposed to be only the first part of chapter 3. Somehow...well, something happened and there you go.  
_**

**_Anyways. Next chapter should be back to 'normal'._**

**_In which Gwaine meets Lancelot, Percival joins the gang, Arthur and Merlin meet a man called Balinor and Morgana makes a decision._**


	4. Flipping a coin into the stars

His hands on his hips, Arthur watches them, wondering if things can get even more ridiculous.

Gwaine and Lancelot stare at each other like two back-arched tomcats on the ridge of a roof - or two lasses in front of a stall where's only left _one_ embroidered scarf.

They are in the forest, in the clearing where the fire pit ended up digging a crater filled with gray ashes. They usually meet near the fishing spot where Lancelot takes Merlin. The river flows along behind the trees, sparkling and quiet, and the sun juggles through the thick foliage, sliding on the metal buckles of the three men's clothes.

Arthur crosses his arms in his leather jacket, a little annoyed. His dark blue collar is a little ajar and he is standing with his legs apart, pouting.

\- "Whenever you guys are ready…", he sighs.

Lancelot ends his silent examination of Gwaine and relaxes. The young man with long brown curls snorts in his beard and smirks too. They seal their new friendship with a knightly arm-shake, under Arthur's wry frown.

_He is far from being fooled. His manservant really has no idea what kind of a ridiculous hold he has on people._

If Gwaine and Lancelot had met in other circumstances, they might have ignored each other or became the best of friends right away, but _because_ Gwaine arrived with his arm thrown around _Merlin_'s shoulders, Lancelot got up with that suspicious father-hen look and responded very coldly to the introduction.

_Arthur has no idea _he_ was also in the equation._

Gwaine is not ready to let anyone spoil the prince who makes him want to serve a king until death, and Lancelot fears the negative influence that people can have on the gullible heir to Camelot.

\- "Everything fine?" he asks.

Gwaine has dropped carelessly on the log and forages in the embers with a stick to see if they are still hot. He has cast his bag next to Lancelot's bundle.

\- "_No_", Arthur groans, while keeping an eye on his manservant who's searching the herbs Gaius sent him fetch: their excuse to escape the stifling royal house when they received Lancelot's message.

Well, _actually_, Arthur is supposed to be tryst with Princess Elena but she has lost him on the way, somewhere between the drawbridge and the mill on the Ealdor road.

\- "What's on your mind, Your Highness?" asks Lancelot patiently and Gwaine rolls his eyes.

\- "His lordship is in a panic because the king has betrothed him to a _troll_", he chuckles, comically wiping his eyes, as if they were still wet.

Merlin told him everything last night and he even imitated the princess, ending his performance with a "Oh. Dear," that gave stomach cramps to the young man from laughing.

\- "She's _not_ a troll", protests a vexed Arthur immediately.

He struggles finding the right words to describe her and Lancelot himself begins to have a grin carving in his cheek.

\- "She's ... err ... she's just… not quite... well…"

\- "She burps and farts like a paunchy innkeeper", bursts out Gwaine, hysterically laughing.

\- "The Lady Elena is just a little – _special_", infers the prince sheepishly. "She ... uh ... she's a good rider. That's for sure. Better at racing than walking with a long dress, anyway!"

The bearded young man stands, holding his ribs, and tries to enact the beautiful fall down the stairs he saw from Gaius' window this morning.

Lancelot smiles frankly now, but his eyes are filled with fondness when he turns to Arthur.

\- "Is there really nothing you like about her? I mean ... I guess you don't get a say in marrying her or not, so you should try to find some good points about her. There's surely at least one."

Arthur mutters something inaudible - probably "why should I even try" - then shrugs and makes a chin gesture towards the carpet of bluebells further in the woods.

\- "Merlin has not classified her "creep", he says simply.

Gwaine turns to cast a glance toward the manservant who is still rummaging among the flowers, like a hunting heron, clasping his bag.

\- "Well, that's _something_."

Lancelot smiles.

\- "Merlin is a good judge of human character", he says.

Arthur is careful not to tell them that even though Merlin finds Lady Elena nice and funny, he has also clearly mentioned he _disapproves_ the idea of the wedding.

The fact this union benefits the kingdom or that Uther has expressed his annoyance in a rather obvious manner when his son weakly protested he felt disinclined to Hymen for the moment, _that_ does not matter to Merlin who has remained obstinate: "but you like _Guinevere_, Arthur. You should only get married to her."

The prince is struggling with so complicated and confused feelings he barely sleeps.

_Hum.__ Uh ... maybe he _does_ appreciate__ a bit - a lot - the maidservant of his sister._

_But__ Lancelot is in _love_ with__ Guinevere and you'd have to be blind not to see it._

_And__ Gwaine said the other day, in a light conversation, he was certain that the young woman refuted his advances because she already _fancied_ some bloke__._

Now, Arthur knows he's lost the case ... and yet he can not bring himself to abandon the fragile hope that flutters in the pit of his stomach when she lifts her hazel eyes and smiles at him in the hallways of Camelot.

He sighs heavily and sits on the log, tousling his blond hair with a frustrated grunt.

\- "I just need _this_!"

Gwaine throws his water skin at him.

\- "At least, it's been more than five years now the country's at peace and the borders quiet. Don't fret, could be worse."

He is right and Arthur knows it. He might be able to win the melee against some of the best fighters of the five kingdoms and have already faced a significant number of bandits during patrols, he does not particularly want to discover what it is like to be at war. Gaius tends to say it is not nearly as epic and heroic as the tales claim it.

\- "What's the _other_ problem?" asks Lancelot who guessed Lady Elena was only the tip of the iceberg.

Arthur rubs his chin, frowning.

\- "Morgana", he replied eventually. "She's ... gloomy, these days."

Gwaine clicks his tongue.

\- "Take her dancing."

Lancelot is about to say something when Merlin rushes towards them with his bag full of herbs and an impish grin.

\- "Sire! She found you!" he cries gleefully, pointing to a white horse through the trees. The other three catch a glimpse of the rider's dress and of her wheat-colored braids before the lady makes a wrong step and tumbles into the river.

Gwaine bursts out laughing immediately, but Lancelot's forehead wrinkles.

\- "Oh poor thing..."

Arthur gets up and brushes his jacket.

\- "I'll get her back to the castle", he sighs. "_Mer_lin, my horse. Fellows, see you ... sometimes."

He looks so upset his friends spare him their jokes. The manservant hurries off to the horses and waits while throwing frequent glances toward the woman who is stepping out the river, far away, wringing her sleeves.

\- "It's the last moon crescent tonight", says Lancelot suddenly. "If you have no other obligations, will you join me? I know nothing better than a pint of cider savored under the stars to put thoughts in order. You're welcome too, Gwaine."

The young man nods vigorously.

\- "Oh, but I was coming anyway!" he quips, picking up his bag.

Arthur ponders for a while.

\- "Okay", he answers finally.

He has no time to add anything because his servant cheeps in happily.

\- "Yeah!"

\- Don't forget to bring these honey cookies Gaius gave you last time", adds Lancelot, ruffling Merlin black hair fondly.

\- "But we must not let Arthur gobble as much this time or he will be sick again and his stomach will make a racket like Lady Elena's this morning!" giggles the boy with big ears.

\- "I wasn't _sick_ !" shouts the prince over his shoulder, walking away briskly in the general direction of his betrothed.

Lancelot laughs and Gwaine looks at him, slightly surprised.

\- "Do they often come see you?"

\- "When I'm around", replies laconically the commoner, gathering his things and flinging the strap of his bag over his shoulder. "The king does not know, of course. I think he doesn't get how stifled Arthur feels in the court ..."

\- "He'll have to get used to it when he's king", says Gwaine in a much more serious tone and Lancelot understands he will not regret accepting the friendship of this odd knightly tramp.

\- "Arthur's not ready yet", he says. "But that day will come."

His smile is full of trust.

\- "I have to get a friend in a village nearby. Do you want to come with me or go back at Gaius'?"

Gwaine throws back his wavy hair and flashes him the white teeth he is so proud of.

\- "Let's go, mate!"

When Merlin and Arthur get to the clearing, that night, Lancelot introduces a two meters tall man, with hands like laundry beaters and brawny limbs, whose eyes are soft and gentle.

\- "Meet Percival. He's a very good tracker and I've never seen anyone win a wrestle against him."

Gwaine, who is in the process of getting out a piece of apple stuck between his teeth, shakes his chin.

\- "You bet", he mumbles.

Arthur studies the newcomer from top to bottom, then grants him a genuine smile.

\- "I'm Arthur Pendragon."

\- "Pleasure to meet you, Sire", greets the man in a respectful tone, bowing briefly.

The eyes of the prince sparkle in the firelight.

He is eager to face this one in a duel - tomorrow or in the coming days. Oh, if only the first law of Camelot did not exist! This man seems to be made from the same cloth as Lancelot and what sovereign would not be honored to have them as knights in his service ...

Arthur never thought much of the children of the nobility, either too weak or too cruel to his liking, but he only begins to realize that apart from the brave knights who serve his father there _are_ also men of honor among the _people_.

\- "You met ...?"

\- "In an ambush", quietly says Lancelot who puts the cider jugs against the dead log so they won't tip. "Saved my life."

\- "Anyone would have done the same", Percival mumbles, scratching his neck, a little embarrassed.

Locusts rustle in the fragrant grass around them and the breeze feels good after this hot summer day. Above them, the sky is filled with ink and a billion stars twinkle.

\- "_Mer_lin", calls the prince. "Bring your bony bottom over here and get these honey cookies out of your bag before we'll all starve."

The lanky boy lays down one more blanket than approaches, casting a suspicious glance at Percival who peers at him curiously.

\- "That's Merlin", Lancelot says. "Arthur's manservant, and my friend."

\- "Hey there, my little fellow!" Percival exclaims, grabbing the lad under his armpits and lifting him into the air like a child.

Merlin struggles, outraged, throwing his long skinny legs in all directions.

\- "I'm _not_ your _little fellow_!" he squeals indignantly, failing to get out of the grasp of the giant who doesn't even flinch. "I'm _taller_ than the prince! Let me down, I can't protect him from up there!"

Gwaine and Lancelot roar with laughter but Arthur's sulking- he hates to be reminded he's shorter than his manservant since the latter's sudden growth spurt. But Percival, very serious, puts Merlin on the ground with respect.

\- "Oh. I'm sorry", he apologizes sincerely. "I did not know you were his bodyguard."

The prince rolls his eyes.

_Seriously?_

He nudges Lancelot.

\- "So you missed Merlin so much you had to go get yourself a gigantic version of him?"

\- "Shut up, your Highness", simply retorts Lancelot.

\- "Thank you", Merlin growls at the giant, brushing his clothes. "Oversized Troll."

Percival's eyebrows bounce with humor despite his poker face.

\- "You're welcome, twig", he says.

Gwaine grins stupidly. He already had a taste of the cider.

Embers crackle and night birds are calling softly in the forest. Gwaine took off his boots and they complained of the foul smell of his socks. No more cider or honey cookies, only crumbs on the blankets, and they are blissfully full.

The five of them are aligned on their backs, contemplating the myriad stars that seem falling to them in the dark vault.

\- "Looks like a well", Gwaine remarks. "But in reverse."

\- "True", Percival nods after a while.

\- "We could try to cast a coin and make a wish", offers Lancelot in the darkness.

\- "Nutters", Arthur mutters.

A gold coin swirls over them, catching the last rays of the flames, then falls without a sound.

\- "Gaius said…you and I… we're like the two faces of a coin ..." mumbles Merlin who is about to fall asleep.

Arthur frowns, but Lancelot crosses his hands behind his neck and smiles.

\- "Gaius is a wise old man."

The prince wonders what the physician meant - and why the hell he said such a thing in front of _Merlin_ who, everyone knows, is unable to keep his mouth shut.

_How would a gold coin engraved with a cross on one face and a crown on the other be the same thing as a prince and his manservant?_

He swallows, trying to shoo away the strange uneasiness that churned inside of him when he watched the coin swirling, as if about to fall forever, to the sky or to the land, prey to a simple flick of the fingers ...

A burnt log collapses beside them and suddenly it's much darker, almost a little cold.

\- "Then, who's 'head' and who's 'tail' ?" asks Percival, puzzled.

\- "I'd say Arthur's 'head', if I didn't know he has _a knack_ for the ladies", says Gwaine who rolls over to Percival's side to avoid Arthur's kicking him with his knee.

\- "He has mouse teeth", says Merlin gravely.

Lancelot chuckles in the night and Arthur is both furious and strangely relieved at the laughter that flutters under his ribs.

\- "_Mer_lin, exactly what bit of _secret_ do you _not_ understand?" he growls, dropping Gwaine and turning to his manservant.

\- "Everyone knows about it", replies the boy with a big grin, squawking and squirming as he gets a well-deserved knuckle-shampoo.

\- "Does the lady Elena thinks so?" asks Percival with such a placid timing it makes Gwaine neighing with laughter.

\- "All right we're off", says Arthur flatly.

Lancelot lifts himself on his elbow and reaches out to him above Merlin's head.

\- "Sire. Stay longer, please. Moon's barely up yet."

Arthur lies down in the middle of the messed up blankets, grouching just to save the face, then joins his hands on his chest and plunges his eyes in the ocean of stars.

He feels so small.

_So at peace with these unceremoniously loyal men._

_And yet so out of place. _

Is he not born to command, to lead an army, to lead a country? Is he not supposed to fulfill his destiny, sit on the throne and protect the world, his people, the weakest?

_So why does he want to throw a bundle over his shoulder and wander off like Lancelot? _

_Why does he wish he could be a simple man, a commoner ... ?_

Since he learnt his father lied, betrayed his mother and destroyed their family, so many things have become different. As if he no longer belonged to the House of Pendragon, as if he were an insignificant pawn who had just opened his eyes.

Sometimes, the rage devouring his insides is so strong that it makes him want hurt everybody, to give up everything, to face again Uther and defeat him, to finish what he started that day ... and then he stops. It is his _father_, though. He always wanted to prove he was worth the great image of the king, his power and the fear he inspires, his ability to maintain peace in such a large kingdom.

_He waited for years for a word, a sentence, a sign of affection or pride._

He grew up without knowing how to express what you feel, how you tell people you love them or that you see their valor.

Without understanding how important it was to be able to do so.

Because when he learnt the truth, there was no more than the word "father" to prevent him from committing the irreparable. He did not kill the king, but he has not looked at him the same way after that.

The man on the throne is his ultimate quest.

His fate.

His last question.

_Is he the heir to Camelot or a prisoner?_

He no longer knows.

Since came Merlin with his heart on his sleeve and his emotions on edge, his blue eyes that express everything he thinks and feels, Arthur discovered that Life is full of nuances, that it belongs to everyone, that he has the right to choose and yet he _is_ the only one who can accomplish the task placed on his shoulders.

_If he runs away, who will protect Camelot?_

_Will he really be happy if he does so and stop caring about anything else but himself?_

_And if he stays and embraces his destiny, will he really be miserable?_

Maybe Life is made of decisions that cost a lot but that you do not regret.

He sighs and glances distractedly to his side.

Merlin is curled up on the blanket, one arm under his cheek and his impossibly long legs folded against him. His white collarbone protrudes a little through the too wide neckline of his blue tunic. His dark eyelashes are resting on his cheeks. His mouth slightly opened, he sleeps soundly.

There is no more noise. The others must be sleeping too. The prince smiles and settles on his right side as usual, using his wrist as a pillow. He closes his eyes and five minutes later he's on his way to dreamland.

Lancelot has waited until the rustling of blankets stopped before sitting up.

He leans gently, grabs his jacket lying next to the fire and carefully arranges it on the frail form of Merlin who unconsciously snuggles in the heat.

Someone coughs softly and the young man looks up.

Gwaine is up too and he watches the sleeping heir to Camelot heir with a peculiar look. His eyes glisten in the night.

\- "A strange pair", he whispers.

Lancelot smiles.

\- "None can compare."

Gwaine rubs his beard absent-mindedly.

\- "Will he really be king someday? I mean, he's ..."

\- "Here?" completes Lancelot in low voice. "With us, instead of being at the castle? Sharing his bread and enjoying the company of commoners? In love with a maid and about to reject a princess?"

Gwaine opens his mouth, then closes it.

\- "I was just going to say ... prattish and reckless", he says awkwardly. "What do you mean with "in love with a maid? "

Lancelot smiles oddly.

\- "Arthur ... One day ... one day you'll be a great king ... everyone will love you and you will be fair and esteemed ..."

Gwaine and Lancelot have leaned foward in the same movement.

Merlin's lids are fluttering open, still heavy with slumber, and he's looking at Arthur's sleeping face. The prince is snoring quietly. The angular features of the manservant are donned with kindness and strong belief.

\- "One day, Arthur ... soon ... you will be fine ... I'll protect you ... you're not alone…"

Merlin closed his eyes and nestles a little more under the jacket. His black fringe almost touches the blonde hair of the prince.

Gwaine snorts fondly.

\- "Merlin knows his way, at least."

Lancelot shakes his head.

\- "No", he says gently. "He goes where Arthur decides to go and when the prince is lost, Merlin reminds him what path he chose. He _will_ be a great king, Gwaine. A king whose name no one will forget."

* * *

**_TBC._**

**_Next chapter : Flames, Friends and Foes_**

**_Sorry. Happened again. But next time I'll make it, promise, and the first part won't swallow up the whole chapter..._**


	5. Flames, Friends & Foes

It's pouring and rivulets trickle on the window in front of Arthur who watches them darkly, his arms crossed, his shoulder leaning against the cold stone wall.

He is in a foul mood and the whole castle knows about it. He has blazed his anger at the stable boy, left the knights and squires soaked and aching after hellish drills, returned his meal to the kitchen after spilling the wine jug into his plate and pretended the lamb thigh was undercooked, thrown all his dirty clothes at Merlin's head, broken almost everything that could be.

And now he is alone in the silent devastated room as the day darkens.

It is _not enough_ probably that the wedding is the end of the month and that there is absolutely _nothing_ he can do to prevent it. No, it _had_ to get worse.

His father's gout is acting and the king's mood is even worse than his son's when he suffers from his foot. He would believe anything, as long as it distracts him from the pain.

But this time, he crossed the line.

In the courtyard the servants are removing the blackened remains of the pyre in the pouring rain. Morgana must be sleeping now, exhausted by all her yelling and begging. Arthur has never seen her in such a state. He has not even suspected how much she had buried her resentment towards their father ...

He wonders if she went through the same doubts as he did, if she has wished to flee the kingdom and deny her name.

_Surely._

He thought she was stronger than him - and probably she _was_, considering she managed to smile to Uther despite the truth she knew. But tonight, his sister is lying in bed, broken by grief and bitterness.

And the migraine throbbing under Arthur's temples is making him nauseous.

He can understand his father's wrath, the need to make an example, but ... was it _really_ necessary? The woman has served them a long time, she was old and she asked for forgiveness on her knees in the great hall, her gray eyes full of tears as she looked at Morgana.

But Lord Aredian, the man who is now the new king's counselor, did not blink and sentenced her to death.

Morgana's nanny, accused of witchcraft, has been burned in the courtyard. They had discovered books of magic and strange twisted brown roots in her room and she confessed under torture having practiced enchantments.

Arthur continues to be disturbed by a tingling at the back of his skull: she said she was only trying to relieve her mistress from her nightmares.

_Was it so wrong?_

He bites his lips, his eyebrows so furrowed they painfully crease his forehead.

Lord Aredian is ... _weird_. His laughter is that of a man who doesn't have all his mind and his honeyed words get on the nerves of the prince. He feels highly ill-at-ease under the vicious gaze of the bleached blonde man and do not trust his pale eyes.

Arthur rubs his chin and stands up, noticing his shoulder is numb and cold after this long stationary station.

Maybe things will settle themselves when the good weather will return ...

The tocsin suddenly shakes the castle and Arthur sighs.

\- "What, now?" he grumbles as he walks toward the great hall.

His mood does not improve when he learns it is Lord Aredian who called everyone here.

Apparently, he discovered another sorcerer within the walls of Camelot.

\- "And I'm sorry to tell you that he is with us at the moment", dramatically announces the man, his blotchy skin going all pink and his pissy-colored eyebrows arching.

Arthur holds his urge to vomit in front the unhealthy glee of the advisor.

Some people just are really malicious and sordid, even when they simply fill out their duties.

Aredian turns on his heels in a rattling of trinkets - he wears a grotesque number of necklaces - and points his leather glove in the direction of the crowd.

\- "It's that boy ... Merlin."

Uther's eyes widen in disbelief, and Arthur almost chokes. For the first time in days, a smirk makes its way across his face.

\- "_Merlin_?" he repeats.

Even Gwaine's dumb jests are more credible.

But it is not a joke and it quickly becomes a painfully very _real_ nightmare. Merlin is thrown into a cell and Arthur finds himself having to search the court physician's chambers. Stoneware pots are crashed, powders and dry herbs treated with no care, parchments are flying in the air, the precious books are brutally thrown to the ground and the potions that were boiling quietly spilled. And suddenly, to the prince's dismay, they find a magic artifact in a jar. Petrified in the middle of the havoc, Gaius glares at a strangely amused Aredian.

\- "I know for a fact this does not belong to Merlin", avers the old man defiantly.

_You bet_, Arthur thinks. He really does not understand how they got there and has a growing headache.

\- "Really? And why, pray?" inquires Lord Aredian suavely.

\- "Because ... because it is _mine_", Gaius replies, straightening his tired shoulders with determination.

Arthur wants to shout that it is the stupidest thing he has ever heard and that by doing so it will fix anything, but Lord Aredian seems to be delighted, as if that was what he wanted to hear from the beginning.

There really _is_ something unsettling in the way he looks at Gaius, an inexplicable hatred that shines imperceptibly behind the icy politeness of his words.

Arthur puts that aside for now and angrily goes to the dungeons while his father receives the advisor. _Surely_ Uther will do something. It was one thing to let condemn a clumsy and foolish servant, but the king is not mad. He will give a fair trial to the old physician who has served him for over twenty-five years.

The guard unlocks the gate and the light of the torch illuminates the cell. Merlin is sitting on the ground, curled up against the dirty wall and when he lifts his terrified blue eyes bright with unshed tears, Arthur softens.

\- "You're free", he says as nicely as he can.

Merlin hardly looks at him and rushes out ... to come across the two guards who are bringing in Gaius.

\- "Arthur? What's happening?"

The pitching voice of the manservant tears the prince's ribs like a dagger.

He swallows hard.

\- "Everything will be fine, _Mer_lin. Don't worry, this mess will quickly be solved."

_Oh,__ he lies so easily._

_As if trying__ to convince himself that all of this is not really happening._

_What kind of__ kingdom betrays his most faithful servants?_

Arthur requires an explanation, but his father answers dryly. Gaius will be subjected to questioning and everything will come to light. There is no reason to fret.

Downpours continue to hit Camelot and moisture invades every corner, slipping in their joints as a squeaky pain that even the large fires lit in all rooms are unable to shoo away.

Arthur has a toothache and is slouched in his armchair, frowning, his hard blue eyes staring at the flames in the fireplace, his chin resting in his hand and his blonde hair tousled.

_Is there _nothing_ he can do?_

He went back to the dungeons last night after hearing Lord Aredian's report to Uther. He saw Gaius and his stomach churned with indignation. The old man has suffered so much. He was collapsed on the straw in his cell, his clothes in rags stained with blood and sweat, face marbled by purple wrinkles, eyes puffy, lips chapped, his white hair stuck to his injuries and tangled. The bruise on his forehead was strangely harder to look at than his broken fingers.

\- "Gaius ..."

He did not know what to say.

_Why did you do that?_

_Do you not know that witchcraft was forbidden?_

_Defend yourself, for heaven's sake!_

He went back to his chambers deep in thought and did not realize Guinevere had followed him.

\- "Your Highness?"

He turned round, surprised to hear the sweet voice filled with worries behind him.

\- "You wanted to talk to me, Guinevere?"

The young woman took a deep breath, her hands clenched on her apron. Her dark curly hair fell in cascades on her purple dress and a few wisps brushed the delicate curves of her caramel satin face.

\- "Sire. Gaius can not be guilty. He ... he would never do such a thing. There must be an explanation."

\- "I know", simply said Arthur, looking away from the almond shaped eyes looking at him as if he could put an end at this terrible mess. "But we can't do anything because of this stupid supposedly magical bracelet. We must wait for the out of his questioning. Gaius would never have kept something so dangerous in his chambers..."

Guinevere bit her lips and took a step forward.

\- "You know this torture will eventually break him", she insisted. "He's old, like ... like Alice."

Her voice choked and Arthur remembered Morgana's nanny had been like a mother to the young orphan maid.

\- "He'll confess to anything and it'll be too late!"

He eventually sent her out, gently but firmly.

Guinevere's words echo in his mind the next day when two guards drag the court physician in the big room and throw him to the king's feet.

_I thought you were different! I believed you had the heart of a great king ... I was wrong ... does your code of chivalry have so little importance? I thought you cared for justice and that you had sworn to protect the weak and the innocent!_

She was quivering with anger and fear at her own audacity, when she left his chambers, but she kept her chin raised and now, her black eyes are glazing at Arthur from the crowd.

\- "He confessed, Your Majesty", says Lord Aredian with a predatory smile, pulling the hair of the old physician to make him look up.

Gaius moans and there is not one person in the audience who does not feel their heart sink - because there is no one here who has not once been treated by the compassionate man.

\- "... I am guilty ... ... Sire ... I alone… am guilty ..."

Arthur finds it strangely put, but he does not have time to ponder about it more because his eyes fall on Merlin.

His manservant seems about to faint.

_Oh no._

The king stands contritely.

\- "Gaius will be executed tomorrow at dawn", he announces darkly. "I condemn him to the pyre, as it is the fate that awaits anyone who practices witchcraft."

The old man closes his eyes and is taken out of the room under Lord Aredian's satisfied gaze, when a sudden movement splits open the crowd. Arthur does not pause for a second and rushes to Merlin before this idiot gets into troubles. He grabs the struggling lanky boy, suffocates under his glove the words that would get him killed and hastens to take his hysterical manservant out of sight of Uther and his advisor.

Merlin kicks, bites the thick leather glove, sticks his elbow into the prince's nose, but his master who does not slow down and drags him down to the dungeons.

\- "I know you're upset, I know you're angry. It's alright. I'm not throwing you in jail", he grinds, twisting Merlin's thin wrist when the boy takes a swing at him.

\- "Then what are you doing?" gasps the manservant, clearly out of his wits.

\- "I'm breaking the law", replies Arthur, determined, heading towards the gate of Gaius' cell.

Once it is unlocked, Merlin surges inside and hugs the old physician who writhes in pain but closes his arms on the back of his shuddering ward.

\- "They wouldn't let me see you", sobs the boy, snuggling his face streaming with tears against the shoulder of his mentor.

Arthur purses her lips.

_Has Merlin spent the last two days down here, near the entrance of the dungeons' corridor?_

_If the guards prevented him from coming in, he must have heard everything that was going on ... without being able to see or stop what they were doing to the old man._

The prince feels a shiver gushing along his spine.

He should have known better and go look for Merlin instead of deducting stupidly that he was hiding in a corner of Gaius' chambers after the physician was taken away.

Gaius, obviously, has come to the same conclusions as Arthur, since he casts a reproachful look at the prince while stroking Merlin's black curls and whispering words of comfort.

The prince contemplates the quivering fingers of the old man and wonders _who_ bothered to properly bandage them.

_Someone__ managed to slip through the guards and provided some care to the prisoner._

_Someone__ who must surely believe in Gaius' innocence or know something._

The guard who opened the cell for the prince clears his throat.

\- "_He_ will be back soon", he mutters uncomfortably.

Arthur nods.

\- "Thank you", he says briefly, before leaning and gently loosening Merlin's grip on his mentor.

\- "Come on, now. We need to go..."

The boy obeys, obviously frazzled and exhausted. Arthur is beginning to wonder if his manservant has _even_ eaten or slept since Gaius was arrested.

The old man looks up and meets the prince's gaze.

\- " have to take care of him, Sire", he whispers, his voice hoarse from screaming under the torture.

Arthur's throat tightens.

He just nods and leads a dazed Merlin out of the cell, half carrying him.

When the gate drops close behind them, he feels very cold and is relieved to have something to do, because everything suddenly seems so grim that he might go mad. He takes Merlin to his chambers - he does not know where else he could leave him - and sits him by the fire.

\- "Stay put, okay? He orders gruffly. "Don't go mindlessly wandering in the corridors and drawing yourself into more troubles, got it?"

The two cobalt orbs look at him with despair. Tears are hanging on the dark eyelashes and sparkle in the glow of the flames.

\- "Arthur, please…" begs Merlin in a very low voice. "Please, don't let him die ... Arthur ... _please_… "

The prince bites his lip to blood.

He would give anything to be elsewhere, to rather confront a monstrous creature or an army, to have Lancelot and Gwaine at his side and let them take care of this frail figure that will eventually break if this keeps going.

_But Merlin is _his_ manservant. _His_ responsibility._

_And Gaius is not only one of his people, but also a man who was there for the prince all his life._

He can not just ignore what is happening and blame his father or the system or ...

He grits his teeth and crouches in front of the armchair, pats Merlin's skinny knee.

\- "Stay here", he repeated sternly. "I'll be back soon."

His chin trembling, the boy nods.

_Gods his ears look so pathetic in the firelight ..._

Arthur stands up and leaves the room, locking it. He rushes down the stairs and back to dungeons only to be stopped by the two soldiers guarding the entrance.

\- "Lord Aredian forbids anyone to see the prisoner."

\- "I am the prince", Arthur retorts haughtily.

The men squirm in embarrassment, but do not give in. The young man, outraged, is about to create a scandal when Sir Leon appears down the stairs, hiding a small bundle under his cloak.

He jumps when he sees Arthur and the prince suddenly understands who is the mysterious person who treated the old man's fingers. He leads the knight away from eavesdroppers and demands explanations.

Sir Leon mumbles at first, then his voice becomes stronger and his eyes are blazing with anger when he explains why the situation seems unfair and wrong to him. Guinevere came to him when Arthur refused to help, and convinced the so serious knight that something was off in this series of events.

\- "Lord Aredian and Gaius know each other from twenty years ago", he whispers. "I was able to hear them at some point, and if we could only convince Gaius to speak out, everything would fall into place, I'm sure."

\- "Still we'd have a problem with the damn bracelet", corrects Arthur, frowning.

\- "I think this would solve itself if we searched the adviser's chambers", growls the knight mysteriously. "But Sire, the most important thing is that the king hears the truth. Gaius has sin, but His Majesty will forgive him, I'm sure."

\- "What do you mean?"

Sir Leon hesitates, then seems to understand he will not get the prince's support if the latter does not have all the keys in hand.

\- "Gaius left the son of Lord Aredian be accused of a crime of high treason, twenty years ago. While it was _his own__ son_ who was guilty. The young man was executed under his father's eyes."

Arthur's eyes widens.

\- "Gaius was _married_?"

The knight makes a face.

\- "Well… not really _married_… if I got this right", he answers reluctantly.

Arthur rubs his chin, trying to sort out his confused thoughts.

\- "What happened to Gaius' son?"

\- "I don't know", says Sir Leon. "I have under the impression he was not a very recommendable man. Apparently, he was banned later for another crime."

\- "And you say Lord Aredian trapped Gaius to get revenge? Why after all these years?"

\- "Maybe he just discovered the truth recently", shrugs the knight. "Sire, if we want to save the court physician, you need to speak to the king _tonight_."

The prince nibbles his thumbnail as he paces, focused.

\- "We can't save him without solid evidence. And it will be the word of Lord Aredian against Gaius'... My father will never accept any of his advisors to be this humiliated."

\- "Sire!"

Sir Leon's urgent voice makes him look up and Arthur steps back, flustered, when he sees the same hope he found in Guinevere's and Merlin's eyes in the knight's stare.

\- "_You_ are the only one who can overturn the tide. The king gives value to what you say, even if it seems to be the opposite. If you were just ... _calm_ and poised when you opposed him, you'd see that he would not flare up and would actually listen to you. "

Arthur leaves the room feeling uneasy, restless and convinced he is a fool to believe that Uther will give any importance to his words _simply_ because the prince will not be screaming or trying to provoke him to make him see reason.

Oddly, it reminds him of something Lancelot often tells him.

_"Your hot temper will be your loss, your Highness. Learn to think before jumping into action and stop thinking talking louder will make people believe you more. Dignity of a king, Arthur, is to show authority even in silence."_

He takes a deep breath before knocking on the door of her father's chambers.

He'd rather charge forward with a sword like Gwaine does, but he will try for once. If it is all it takes to save the old physician and bring him back to Merlin, and to stop Guinevere from looking at him with such disappointment, then he _will_ do it, whatever the cost.

The next day, rain is still pouring, plashing on the courtyard cobblestones, drenching the bales piled on the stake and dripping like tears on the window, but Arthur feels more at peace he has been for centuries.

_Okay__ days._

It is over.

Uther has objected to all his argument, but he seemed pleased enough by the respectful attitude of his son to agree to postpone the execution and review the facts. Sir Leon has produced a witness who admitted to having sold to Lord Aredian the infamous artefact of sorcery and when the king asked Gaius, the man confirmed the story of revenge - after hesitating long enough for Arthur's shirt to be quenched in sweat.

That was then Lord Aredian lost it and created such chaos he brought judgment over his own head.

The King forbid him to appear again before the court, since he could not decently banish him while he clearly had decided to keep Gaius near him despite whatever exactly happened twenty years before.

Uther is probably much more fond of the old physician that he shows.

In the end, all is well, though Merlin seemed still traumatized and has already caused a dozen disasters since this morning.

Gwaine, Lancelot and Percival will certainly be back soon to Camelot - it must be the torrents of rain and the floods they cause on the roads that prevent them from being back from their quest.

_What__ has Lancelot said already? Trident of the Fisher King. Yes, sure. Count on Lancelot to launch himself onto such ridiculous quests ..._

When they are here, Arthur hopes to go hunting for three days and make the most of their carefree laughter, while ensuring that Merlin resumes to some colors. He misses the cheeky chatter and light banter with his manservant more than he would ever admit it.

He meets Guinevere in a hallway and smiles at her, whistling merrily.

She hesitates, bites her lips as she stares down at the basket of laundry she's carrying, then looks up and greets him briefly before going on her way.

Arthur spends about fifteen minutes with rosy cheeks and a smug look on his face, standing in the middle of the hallway.

She smiled at him ... and she seemed _proud_ of him.

_This is definitely the best day of his life._

He floats up to his room where he stumbles upon a dirty water bucket. Merlin is currently washing the floor with a brush, knelt in a puddle of soap.

Arthur teases him, inquires about the health of the old physician who is still in bed, then jumps on his bed _with his boots_, deliberately ignoring his manservant's disapproving 'tsk', crosses his arms under his neck and fully dedicates himself to the blue dreams that fly around him like drugged butterflies.

Everything is perfect, everything is beautiful, everything is fine.

Until the alarm bell starts to ring.

Arthur is looking for someone to strangle upon entering the great hall - someone _else_ than the manservant trotting behind him with his ears bristling like a rabbit caught in a clearing - but he quickly regained his composure discovering the bodies aligned on the tiled floor, wrapped in white sheets.

\- "... and there are dozens of others", concludes Sir Leon standing in his long red cloak stained with mud. "Two villages were almost decimated and there are already five cases in the lower town. Your Majesty, this is an epidemic."

* * *

**_TBC_**

**_Now, I know you don't believe me anymore, but I _do_ promise Balinor is coming up in next chapter._**

**_And I'll stop entertaining the idea I have any control over this fic._**

**_THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR YOUR SUPPORT AND REVIEWS !_**

**_Not only do they make my day, but it's because of them that you're getting so quick updates._**

**_You ARE inspiring!_**


	6. Fathers and sons alike

When Sir Leon stopped talking, a dreadful silence filled the great hall. Uther took a deep breath and turned mechanically to his left.

\- "Gaius, what do you think?"

But Gaius was not there, of course, because he can't even get up.

And _this_ is where the problem lies.

No one has fallen ill in the castle yet, but half of the lower town is condemned by barricades and they never stop to burn corpses. Black and oily smoke rises above the thatched roofs and mingle with the rain that keeps pouring on Camelot. Moldy straw carts carry the dying patients who cough out blood and white mash that smells of death. Crows have gathered on the bell tower and croak, sardonic, their dark feathers glistening with water.

Arthur looks at the city through his window with his fists clenched. His people are dying and there is nothing he can do to prevent it. He feels so sorry for them, almost aching like if they were... his _children_.

_Ahem. What a strange idea. He has no offspring and does not intend to have any before ... well, years. When he is king or later. Anyways. Is he going mad or what?_

_Maybe Merlin is rubbing off on him a little too much._

His manservant has been bustling restlessly since the beginning of the epidemic, doing his chores in a hurry to be back as soon as possible to help his mentor.

Gaius is still lying on his cot, too weak to get up and examine patients, and his bruised fingers are still sore to crush herbs or concoct potions. He consults his books, desperately pondering. Guinevere shares her time between her service to Morgana and the old man's chambers, tirelessly.

Merlin keeps running back and forth between the lower town and the castle, soaked like a hedgehog, his black hair plastered on his face. He brings back information, all he can observe without getting too close to the sick villagers.

Sir Leon has entered the quarantine zone and does not have the right to leave it now, of course. He hung up his long red cloak on a nail and has put on an apron, regardless of appearances. His blond curls hidden under a dirty cloth, he organizes the sick in the tavern, leads the evacuation of the dead, reassures and encourages the people, never losing his dignified and courageous guise.

Uther Pendragon has not slept for three days. With bloodshot eyes, he paces in the throne room growling like a cornered wolf.

He _will_ overcome the plague, in one way or another.

_There must be a solution._

Out of patience, he goes back again to the court physician's chambers, storming in and throwing the wooden door against the wall.

\- "GAIUS!"

Guinevere jumps and drops to the ground the wet cloth she was pressing on the old man's forehead.

\- "Your Majesty ... I ... he ..."

His eyes blazing and his jaw clenched, the king orders her to get out with a chin gesture. Then he comes to the bed, pushing aside annoyingly the onions and the dry hawthorn hanging from the old timber beams.

\- "Gaius, tell me you _found_ a cure."

The old man turns his head on his pillow. His features are drawn with fatigue.

\- "I'm sorry I have not yet been able to do so, Sire", he says softly.

Uther drops on the stool next to him, grinding his teeth.

\- "One of the maids has fallen ill", he hisses. "People of the castle will soon be affected too. Gaius ... we _need_ to find as a cure. If ... if Arthur and Morgana were to ... ... I could not stand it..."

The old man looks at him with compassion and sadness.

\- "We are doing our best, Sire, I promise. Merlin and Sir Leon made a list of similarities between the victims and what symptoms they show. I could not have been more informed by examining the sick myself."

\- "So what is it, then?" asks the King, his voice hoarse with anger and helplessness. "Is the Black Death, Gaius? Are we all doomed?"

The physician shakes his head.

\- "I believe can heal the victims", he says. "But even if I could get up and look for the herbs I'm missing, or go test and adjust the potion, I do not think I would succeed. Your Majesty, these are the limits of my science and my poor body. Time is running out if the plague is already at the gates of the castle. We need a man of greater knowledge than I. Someone who has already defeated a pestilence like this ... we need _him_, Sire."

Uther looks away and sighs. He runs his leather gloves on his face, pushing the crown that encircles his forehead like a migraine.

\- "Gaius, I can not do that. I forgave your silence twenty years ago, but I can not lift the ban."

\- "But we have no choice, Sire! No one is more capable than he. I have heard rumors again, recently. His art has improved. He _will_ find a cure. Listen to me, I beg of you ... We _need_ him to save Camelot."

The king gets up and paces into the room, playing with the big ring around his finger, his eyes staring at his boots. The rain drums continuously behind the window and, inside, the candles are casting shadows on the walls. There are books piled on the steps of the wooden staircase leading to the library mezzanine and a loose cloak thrown on the ramp.

\- "Even if I was to sent someone to fetch him ... would he agree to return to Camelot?"

\- "He will not let innocent people die", assures the physician.

\- "His ideas, Gaius, they are so dangerous ... how could I risk it poison the minds of the court again? I have not banned him for nothing. And how will _you_ face him? You were the one who reported him to the law..."

The old man shuts his eyes for a moment. When he reopens them, Uther is glaring at him with concern under his irritated and uncomfortable look.

\- "Your Majesty", Gaius says, quietly resolved despite the unspeakable sadness wrinkling his bushy white eyebrows. "My son and I are of no importance. What matters is to save Camelot."

Uther massages his face, a hand on his hip, throwing back the folds of his dark cloak beaded with rain.

\- "Very well", he says after taking another deep breath. "Very well."

He leaves the room, followed by the tired look of the old man, passes on the doorstep Merlin who's coming in, hooded by his brown cloak rain-soaked. The servant greets the king, then rushes to his mentor, stumbling against the baskets placed near the entrance.

\- "What was it the king wanted? Is _Arthur_ sick?" he exclaims, his big blue eyes concerned. "Was not happy with you? Has he hurt you?"

Gaius shakes his head and smiles.

\- "Arthur is _fine_, Merlin. And the king merely wanted to talk with me. Sit by the fire and take off these wet clothes, you're shivering so much your jaw's going to get loose. Did you eat anything today?"

The boy takes off his cloak and lets his tunic slip to the ground before hopping in search of a dry blanket, pressing his arms around his scrawny torso with chattering teeth. His ears are ice-red, his hair is dripping on his neck and along his pale bony spine.

He finds his other shirt - Guinevere has suspended it on a hemp rope near the fireplace and the rough fabric is pleasantly hot - and puts it on with a sigh of relief before coming to sit on the stool next to the bed.

\- "Sir Leon's doing fine", he tells, taking in his palms the old wrinkled hand. "He tried to filter the water as you said and it seems to help the sick. Nobody died yesterday, there's only ol'Marie from the tannery who's condition has not improved."

\- "Good", says Gaius, contemplating the angular features of his ward with affection. "You worked hard and you must be exhausted. You should get some sleep."

He reaches out to gently pinch the boy's nose. Merlin snuggles his cheek against the hand caressing his face.

\- "I still have tons of strength, Gaius", he says, not managing to hide a yawn. "I'll go to the kitchen to get some soup. You need to eat plenty to soon be able to get up and heal the people of Camelot."

His blue eyes are smiling, trusting.

Gaius can save them.

* * *

oOoOoOo

* * *

\- "Gaius can not save us", the king announces upon entering his son's chambers without bothering to knock. "Everything depends on you, now."

Arthur gasped when he heard the door, but he frowns, now.

\- "What do you mean, Father?"

Uther Pendragon lays his hand on his shoulder.

\- "There's a man whose science can overcome this pestilence. You will take one or two men with you and go fetch him. He lives in Feyora, in the kingdom of Cenred."

The young man listens with surprise to the king's grave voice.

\- "We're at peace with Cenred, but our diplomatic relations with them are fragile. He waits only for a misstep to declare war. You must absolutely not be recognized. You will bring the man back here, and when he will have concocted his remedy, you'll ride with him beyond the White Mountains and make sure he leaves the country. The whole time he's here, you will be responsible for ensuring that he does not interact with anyone other than Gaius."

Arthur clears his throat.

\- "I'm not sure I understand. Who is this man, Father? Why so many precautions?"

The king snorts angrily, as if he has no intention at all to explain, then softens. He comes closer to the fireplace and put his foot against the hearth, leaning his elbow on the blackened beam embedded in the stone.

His eyes on the flames, he speaks slowly.

\- "The man's name Balinor. He is the last survivor of a secret society called the Dragonlords, which extols the people's right to give their _opinion_ on the government. If we had not put an end to it twenty years ago, these people would eventually have stirred up the peasants and brought anarchy to the kingdom.

Arthur's eyes widen, stunned and horrified.

\- "Balinor was a member of the court, an outstanding physician whose talents went far beyond those of anyone in the five kingdoms. I banished him out of respect for Gaius, but if he was to cross the border, he would be executed immediately."

\- "Out of respect ... for Gaius?" repeats the young man hesitantly.

The king sighs. The tip of his boot taps against the molded jambs of the fireplace.

\- "Balinor is his son", he says finally. "Now get ready and go, Arthur. The time is short."

* * *

oOoOoOo

* * *

Gusts of rain force them to progress slowly, squinting to see, bent over the necks of the horses that struggle on the road ploughed by muddy ruts. It's cold, their cloaks are soaked and heavy, and the night will soon fall.

\- "We should stop!" Merlin shouts behind him, but Arthur does not turn his head to answer.

\- "No, we can still go on for a league or two!" he replies stubbornly.

His blond hair falls into his eyes, his hands tremble on the reins, his mail coat weighs a ton, but he can not bring himself to dismount and sit in front of his servant by the fire.

Gaius's words go round and round in his head, endlessly.

* * *

_\- "Arthur. Before you leave, there is something you should know ..."_

_He wanted to protest, to tell the old man he already knew his secret, but the court physician shook his head and forced him to sit by the bed. He grabbed the young man's arm, squeezed it so hard it was almost hurting._

_\- "Merlin will soon be back with your bags, so listen to me, Sire. No one else knows this, not even your father. The man you are going to fetch ... Balinor ... he is Merlin's father."_

_\- "WHAT?"_

_\- "I didn't know, Arthur. I first heard about it when I received Hunith's letter. She wrote he went away many years ago, before the child was even born, that he had simply told her he had family in Camelot and that she could turn to me if she needed help one day. And this young woman waited to be on the verge of dying to tell me I had a grand-son and to allow me to meet him ..."_

* * *

What is Arthur supposed to do with such a secret?

He wants to scream that Gaius and his father should deal with their own mess, rather than force him to interfere.

He snorts, wipes the rain trickling down his face and presses his heels into the flanks of his horse. Mud breaks under the hooves of the exhausted animal and the two riders dive into the falling night.

When they cross the border, it is already dark and they stop at an inn on the side of the road a few hours later.

They entrust their horses to a stable boy dotted with freckles, who's dozing on his hay fork at the back of the house. When they enter the common room, happy to finally be dry and hot, Arthur greets loudly the customers who look even less sympathetic then the people in the tavern where they met Gwaine last year. The prince tries to get information from the tenant, but the man ignores the fat pouch on the counter and simply grunts something inaudible.

The room is pretty much clean and there are not too many fleas in the bedding. Arthur takes right away the bed opposite to the door and removes his wet clothes that Merlin takes downstairs to put to dry by the fireplace in the main room before coming back to the bedroom to change as well ... and all this without saying a word.

Intrigued, Arthur watches him for a moment while picking out what could be a chip of calf stuck in between his teeth.

\- "What's wrong with you today?" he finally asks.

Merlin sticks his head out of his dark blue shirt, then shrugs and dives under his blanket.

\- "Nothing", he replies laconically.

Arthur arches his eybrow wryly.

\- "Merlin, there are loads of people who can serve. So few are capable of chatting _hours_ when asked to shut up. And you know what? This is the only thing that keeps me from firing you. There may come a day when I would need to win the contest of the most prolix servant."

\- "Pfff. You don't even know what it means."

\- "Oh _I_ know", Arthur chuckles. "But _you_ don't."

He cockes his head to the side, still sitting on the edge of his bed.

\- "Come on, tell me. What is it? Are you missing Gaius?"

Merlin does not need to hear things like "If I was not a prince, we could be friends" to tell what weights on his heart. Since day one, he always acted as if Arthur was _always_ available, _always_ ready to listen, _always_ interested in his incessant chatter.

So if Merlin is silent now, it means there really _is_ something wrong.

\- "Hum."

The boy has turned to the wall and the prince throws a pillow at him to get back his attention.

\- "_Mer_lin."

\- "_What_?" growls his servant.

Arthur frowns.

\- "You haven't catch a cold, have you? I'm not dragging along a servant who sneezes and sputters like a baby full of snot."

Merlin frankly turns to his side and his dark blue eyes blaze furiously.

\- "Do you _ever_ shut up?"

Arthur is so shocked he almost chokes.

\- "Oh well", he finally stammers, rolling his eyes. "If it's like this ..."

He blows out the candle on the small table between them, thrusts his legs on the narrow mattress and gets under his own blanket, turning his back on his servant.

He doesn't have to wait very long.

\- "I'm sorry", Merlin whispers a hushed voice.

Arthur does not answer, but he smiles to himself before closing his eyes and drifting off to sleep.

Not for long, though, because a suspicious – and not very quiet – thug sneaks into their room a little after midnight, with the clear intention to steal the pouch filled with silver coins Arthur made a show of earlier in the evening. The prince is alert as soon as the latch rattles and traps the man under his sword. After some threats - and some sniveling answers - he has the information he wanted: Balinor lives in a shack on the other side of the forest.

Dawn is barely born when they leave and the saddles have not really dried overnight. Merlin squirms on his, and Arthur rolls his eyes because there are more important things than mild discomfort.

_For example, the fact they must convince a man who was banished by Uther to come back to Camelot, to save the kingdom that destroyed all of his people._

_And the fact this man is the son of Gaius._

_And incidentally also Merlin's father._

The cottage of the former dragonlord is rather shabby. The prince wonders how a bloke with such knowledge, who was once famous in Camelot's court, can now live in such a place.

_Maybe he's gone barmy._

Merlin is so close behind Arthur he steps on his heels and bumps his nose against the skull of Arthur who stops, exasperated.

\- "Go around the house, will you. Perhaps he's not here ..."

A little strangled cry and a quick movement behind him.

\- "Oh, he's here and he wonders what fool comes knocking at this damned door."

The deep voice is accompanied by the familiar tickling of a sword tip resting on his throat.

Arthur turns his head cautiously and raises his hands in sign of peace.

\- "We mean you no harm", he says slowly. "We are looking for a man named Balinor."

\- "Why?"

The prince swallows. From the corner of his eye, he sees the dark leather sleeve that strangles the neck of his manservant.

\- "We need help. Camelot… Camelot is in danger."

A long silence follows, then the man lets go of Merlin who starts coughing, and he opens the door, still threatening Arthur with his sword.

In the dark shabby cottage where reigns the same scent of sage and fennel than in Gaius' chambers, the prince explains the reason for their coming, just keeping to himself to the two secrets he learned just before leaving. He assures the man no harm will be done to him and that he will be able to walk away free in exchange for the remedy that will cure the people of Camelot.

Arthur throws all his heart in his argumentation, but it does not seem to be _enough_.

The man refuses categorically.

He seems almost surprised they even dare ask for his help.

\- "You've got the willies, innit?" Merlin says suddenly, in the frustrated silence that has followed the last attempts of the prince.

Balinor tilts his head to one side - a gesture that frighteningly reminds Arthur of someone else. He crosses his arms over his dark leather jacket and points the lad with his chin.

\- "Who's that?"

\- "No one. My manservant", says the young man a little too hastily.

Two cobalt orbs stare at him wrathfully.

\- "I'm not _no-one_. I'm Merlin", says the boy with big ears, looking up defiantly.

Balinor arches an eyebrow and scratches his thick black beard.

\- "Your _manservant_", he repeats.

Arthur blushes.

_Is it really so _strange_ that the heir to Camelot has as for trusted servant - single bodyguard - a big lanky kid who is obviously an _idiot_?_

Balinor mumbles something they do not understand and leaves them in the house for the rest of the day. When he comes back, he does not look too surprised to see they're still here, but he offers them nothing to eat or drink. Arthur's stomach grumbles. Merlin is perched on a stool and watches the man with an intense gaze. His cheekbones are a little flushed and he has hardly spoken since this morning. Arthur is beginning to fear there is something seriously wrong with him.

He just hopes - _he desperately begs the gods deep inside_ \- that Merlin has no coming down with the sickness that affects Camelot.

\- "Do you plan on spending the night here?" Balinor asks, somewhat sarcastically.

\- "We will not leave without you", Arthur retorts, glaring at him. "Hundreds of lives depend on the success of our quest. I will do _everything_ I can to convince you to come with us. I will not let my people die if there is the _slimmest_ hope for a cure somewhere the depths of the five kingdoms."

The man looks at him thoroughly for a moment, then he begins whistling, getting herbs from his cupboards and pounding them in a bowl. He adds water and a powder that comes out of a bag hidden in his belt and eventually empties the liquid into a copper goblet he puts in front of the prince.

\- "_Everything_?"

\- "Everything", replies Arthur, hiding a shudder.

Balinor nods.

\- "In this goblet, there is a lethal poison, that kills _very_ slowly. You never think you're sick, then you start having the slighest headache, then it grows worse until one day you die, spiting your lungs. I don't care who it is, but one of you must drink it. I'll give you the antidote when I'm out of Camelot's reach again."

\- "You don't have to do that", growls Arthur, outraged, while Merlin stares at the man with a strange gaze of betrayal misted with surprise.

\- "I need a guarantee."

\- "I gave you _my word_", scowls the prince.

\- "The word of a king doesn't mean anything to me and neither does the word of a peasant. Men are gullible and versatile creatures. They can't keep up with their promises."

Arthur bites the inside of his mouth.

He is livid with irate, but he knows he has no choice. He takes a deep breath and jumps when the stool on which was sitting Merlin falls abruptly to the ground.

\- "You're not going to drink it, are you?" cries the young servant, alarmed.

He rushes to the table.

\- "I'll do it, Arthur. Let _me_ do it. Please."

At that precise moment, Arthur hates so much the former dragonlord he could kill him on the spot. He strongly pushes away Merlin without listening to his protests and picks up the goblet. He empties it before slamming it back on the table.

He wipes his mouth with his sleeve in the silence where they only hear the strangled moan of his manservant and his eyes blaze at Balinor.

\- "All right, done. Satisfied? Are we on our way, now ?"

The man looks at him impassively, then nods again.

\- "Let's go."

Outside, the rain has stopped.

They barely have time to ride to the border of Cenred's kingdom before night falls. Arthur breathes more freely once they are in allied woods and looks for a place to spend the night.

They light a fire and Merlin lays blankets on the carpet of dead leaves before coming to sit cross-legged in front of the tree log, on which the man is sat down to skin the rabbit that will be their dinner. The prince drinks with big gulps what is left in his water skin, then go fill it at the stream that runs a few feet into the woods, while keeping his sword in his belt and an eye toward the camp.

He wonders if he is thirsty because of the poison and if Balinor will _really_ give him the antidote before leaving Camelot.

And if the man will really find a cure for the pestilence that hits the city.

He tries not to think about Guinevere, Morgana, his father, Gaius, Sir Leon and those they left behind them to go get help. He hopes everyone is fine ...

When he comes back to the fire, Merlin is watching Balinor intensely.

\- "Have you ever been to Ealdor ?" he asks suddenly.

The question stings Arthur like a wasp and he stumbles on a bag, before sitting down.

\- "Spent some time there", the man shrugs, focused on the motion of his knife.

Merlin's blue eyes are staring at him intensely.

\- "Did you see a woman who looks like a princess ?"

The man chuckles softly, if a little surprised, and his dark eyes look at Merlin with a glint of kindness.

\- "You're a strange lad, aren't you, boy?" he says before resuming to his task. "I don't know many women that are _real_ princesses, but yeah. There was a woman who could have been a queen, there. She was beautiful and sweet. Hunith was her name."

Arthur snorts : _since when princesses qualify only for their beauty? What do you do with his betrothred Elena, then?_

Merlin had not moved.

\- "Did you _know_ her ?"

The man darkens.

\- "Loved her, once."

Now, Arthur knows where this conversation is heading, but he can not bring himself to stop it.

It doesn't feel like he has any right to do so.

No matter how Gaius's ward – well, his grand-son, actually - learned the truth, it's up to him to make that choice.

\- "Well… I'm Hunith's son", says Merlin.

The knife stops for a split second, but the man only blinks slightely.

\- "She got married, then", he mutters. "Good for her. She deserved to be happy."

Merlin looks a bit confused for a moment, then he tilts his head to the side and looks even more deeply at the man.

\- "She never got married", he states.

* * *

**_To be continued ..._****_  
Sorry for the horrible cliffhanger ... but it was either that or no chapter at all today  
Figured you'd rather have something to read._**

**_(sorry)_**


	7. Two little wooden dragons

For a moment, the cold night is only disturbed by the whisper of leaves, the distant muffled calls of animals and the crackling of the flames.

Arthur holds his breath.

\- "I am your son", presses Merlin, startled by the lack of reaction from Balinor.

_It could almost be funny if it was not so sad._

The man looks up and his dark eyes dive in the cobalt orbs attached to him, as to probe, to insure this is the truth, to ... _hold on to reality?_

Arthur can feel how the former dragonlord is shaken by this revelation, despite his well-maintained poker face.

\- "I don't know what it's like to have a son", he finally mutters with an awkward smile.

Maybe it is the smoke, but his eyes are wet and stinging.

Merlin's big blue eyes well with tears, but he smiles back, so widely the night seems to brighten up.

\- "Nor I to have a father", he replies feebly.

His shoulders are hunched apologetically and he looks so fragile, so thin, so naive, sitting cross-legged on the ground in front of the man who has not made a move to take him in his arms, that Arthur has to resist the need to get up and kick the dragonlord's obnoxious butt.

_Is it possible to be that stupid?_

Even the prince, who is far - _very far_ – from being effusive, knows Merlin deserves something _more_ than just a moist gaze.

The man clears his throat and puts the knife aside on the tree log. He looks around, finds the wooden spike prepared for the rabbit and skewers the animal on it before placing it over the fire. Then he gets up, brushes his leather jacket and scratches his beard.

\- "I'll be back", he grumbles.

And off he goes.

Merlin follows him with clouded eyes and his smile fades slowly. He lowers his head, changes position and brings his knees to his chin.

_Pitiful._

Arthur is even more furious than when he had to drink the poison earlier in the day. Breathing deeply to calm down, he gets up and goes round the fire to come sit next to his manservant. He drops on the blanket, lightly shoves Merlin's shoulder.

\- "Hey", he tries.

Merlin ties his arms around his legs, no giving him a look.

\- "He just needs some time to get his head around it, don't worry", says the prince.

_He is a heartless git and he should have known better than hurting his son._

He is still so angry he keeps his voice quiet in case it would make that shrill sound he loathe.

\- "Merlin? Merlin, look at me."

Rather than complying, the boy buries his face deeper in the crook of his arms.

\- "_Mer_lin. You're not supposed to disobey a direct order from your master."

The little stifled sound he gets as an answer is just the saddest thing in the world.

\- "He doesn't want me", stammers a small broken voice.

Arthur does not really _think_, he just throws his arm around his servant almost as a reflex.

\- "That's not true", he says firmly, while his glove squeezes gently the bony shoulder of his manservant. "He just was caught by surprise, that's all. Imagine what kind of face _I_'d pull if I were suddenly to learn _Gwaine_ is my brother."

Merlin looks up and sniffs loudly.

\- "Is he?" he perks up.

Arthur grimaces.

\- "No, of course _not_!" he protests. "Only an old _toad_ could have this kind of relationship with him."

He smiles and gives a friendly flick to the boy's cheek.

\- "What did I mention about servants who have runny noses?" he scolds softly.

Merlin pouts in apology and wipes his face with the back of his sleeve.

\- "Sorry ..."

Arthur takes off his arm from the skinny shoulders and ruffles his young servant's black hair.

\- "Good", he says.

His eyes scan the darkness of the woods in search of the man. Balinor better be back soon if he does not want the prince to go get him and bring him back by the collar of his ridiculous jacket.

Arthur sighs, annoyed. He gets up and paces around the fire, adds a log, looks up at the moon lurking in the emerging fog.

\- "You don't like him much, do you?"

He shrugs.

\- "I don't trust him yet ", he corrects.

He snorts, his hands on hips, then sits on the tree trunk and puts his elbows on his thighs.

\- "Merlin?"

\- "Hmm?"

\- "How did you know he was your father?"

The dark eyelashes blink fast, in a flash of guilty blue.

\- "I heard you talk to Gaius."

The prince nods.

\- "Well, that explains why you suddenly turned mute, I guess."

He pauses.

\- "I'm sorry, Merlin."

The boy shivers a little on his blanket, pulls the one laying at the side and wraps his gangly frame in it.

\- "Why?" he asks, a bit surprised.

Arthur nibbles the inside of his mouth, lets out a contrite sigh.

\- "For everything."

Merlin tilts his head to the side.

\- "It's okay", he says, smiling at Arthur as if he was trying to cheer him up. "Everything will be fine. We'll come back to Camelot, people will be healed and Ba ... Balinor will give you the antidote, my liege."

He wrinkles his nose a bit mischievously.

\- "Gaius will be very happy to see him again after so long! And Guinevere is going to be _awfully_ surprised when I'll tell her the _court physician_ is my grandfather. Gwaine will jump higher than Perceval's head and I bet Lancelot will say that explains why I'm good with picking herbs ..."

Arthur does not find the courage to shut down this stream of rushed, desperately cheerful words.

_Oh, Merlin. No, none of this will happen._

_Gaius will not greet his son with open arms and Balinor won't get the chance to meet your friends._

_Your father will be gone again, at some point, and you won't get a say about it._

Maybe it's not so bad the man has shown so distant after all. Their parting will surely be less painful that way ...

Speaking of the devil, the former dragonlord is coming back. He sits down on the log in a swish of his long dark leather coat and deliberately avoids Merlin's gaze. He checks the rabbit and scowls because they did not turn the spindle and their dinner is black on one side, pink on the other.

He does not utter a word throughout the whole meal and acts as if he was not aware of the glances thrown at him. Merlin went silent immediately when he returned and stays drearily quiet until Arthur curtly orders him to bed, annoyed by the repeated yawning of his servant who struggles to keep his eyes open.

\- "I'll wake you when it's your turn to take watch."

Once Merlin is huddled under his blanket that lifts regularly, evidence that he's out, Arthur turns to Balinor who has retrieved a piece of wood from his pocket and begun to carve it.

_Really, for a physician, he tends to use the blade far too often._

The prince clears his throat.

\- "Did you really need to do that?" he scolds.

Balinor frowns.

\- "His condition", he asks sternly. "It is an accident? A fever? Or was he born like this?"

Arthur relents.

\- "Gaius said he was born like that."

\- "What are his limitations?"

The man's tone is sharp, like the king's when he gets a report from his scouts.

The prince stirs uncomfortably on the tree trunk.

\- "You should ask Gaius", he retorts coldly.

The man looks up briefly and his eyes flash angrily.

\- "I'm asking _you_."

Arthur does not appreciate the least this lack of respect, but he is not fooled. He glimpsed briefly a spark of a distress behind the apparent aggressiveness of the former dragonlord.

He sighs - _again_. Apparently that's what he does best since the beginning of this journey.

His eyes fall on the sleeping form of his servant.

\- "He can do _everything_", he says. "It's just that he does it _slower_. It's not like if he was a child in a man's body, he's ... he understands more than a child, you can ask more of him. It's just that ... he sees and reacts from a different perspective than common people. He has no practical sense _at all_ and _always_ puts his himself in impossible trouble, but sometimes he displays strange and beautiful wisdom."

A smile touches his lips, without his noticing.

\- "Merlin is a good lad", he concludes. "Someone anyone could be proud to have as a friend."

He turns to the man and startles at his strange gaze.

\- "What?"

\- "Nothing", grunts Balinor, resuming to his wood carving.

\- "I _hate_ it when you do that", grumbles the prince.

He gets up and stretches, yawns widely.

\- "I guess you don't mind taking the first watch, as you are keeping yourself busy", he scoffs, with a chin gesture towards the calloused hands of the former dragonlord.

Balinor does not bother to answer, as usual.

Arthur crams under his blanket, settles his head on his wrist and observes him one last time.

If you were to remove the thick bushy beard, the man's profile would look a bit like Gaius. His curly black hair is the same as Merlin, and he also slumps when sitting, just like the boy.

But Merlin's cobalt orbs must be a gift from Hunith and, considering Balinor's broad figure, the frail body of his servant probably also came from his mother.

Arthur's lids are growing heavy.

_He wonders why Merlin's father went to Ealdor many years ago ..._

_Why he left behind the woman he loved and was gone never to return ..._

_Why ..._

He is already asleep.

The man waits to be certain the prince has drifted off to deep slumber before getting up carefully. He goes round the fire with surprising lightness, making sure he does not step on twigs or make the leaves crunch, then kneels beside Merlin.

For a moment, he contemplates the angular features of the sleeping boy, not saying anything, then his hand reaches softly and he pushes a black lock of hair from his son's forehead.

\- "I didn't know", he whispers. "I am so sorry... I didn't know..."

He closes his eyes and a tear runs trickles along his nose and disappears in his thick dark beard.

When Merlin opens his eyes, the next morning, there is a little wooden dragon on the stone next to his head.

* * *

oOoOoOo

* * *

Arthur digs his heels into the horse's flanks, dashing up the last hill that separates them from the border. When he gets to the top, he looks back, pushing aside a branch that splashes him with cold droplets, and watches the progress of the rider behind him.

The sun is warm on his cheek, but barely enough bright to slid gold in his blonde hair through the twany foliage of the forest of Ascetir.

It feels like it was just yesterday they camped in the clearing below, but it's been over a month, now.

Camelot is recovering from the scars left by the epidemic. They have begun to rebuild the houses that were burnt to clean up the streets. It will take a long time for this ordeal to be forgotten, but at least no one is sick anymore. Uther opened the granaries and had food distributed, Gaius is finally on his feet and watches carefully the healing of the oldest folks.

Guinevere and Morgana are supplying clothing and blankets for the lower town people. They even sewed rag dolls for the youngest girls. Sir Leon slept for three days, then went back to work and is supervising the reconstruction of the buildings.

Merlin ... Merlin is everywhere, as usual. Cheeks smeared with soot, hands in soap, carrying stones or pulling timber carts, smiling and encouraging everyone.

Lancelot, Gwaine and Percival returned from the Perilous Lands with a rusty fork, very pleased with their journey. Gwaine spoke of wyverns and apple pies, Percival complained of mud and blisters. Lancelot is already in the process of writing an epic poem about their quest, and will certainly want to declaim it next time they find themselves enjoying a tankard of mead under the stars - gods have mercy.

And Arthur has so many things to tell them he does not even know where to start.

\- "You're too heavy for the poor nag", he tells Balinor when the man makes it up hill.

The former dragonlord simply raises an eyebrow.

\- "Wait a few years, when you are king. With all these banquets you'll have to attend, you'll quickly become fat and impotent."

The prince snorts, amused.

\- "Not a chance", he retorts. "Merlin will never let me hear the end of it if he needs to make additional holes in my belt. I will _not_ give him that pleasure."

Balinor chuckles fondly, with this deep laughter he does not let people hear often.

Arthur and him spent hours together during the past month. Uther has seen the former dragonlord only once. The two men glared at each other in a suffocating silence before they reminded each other of their oaths to respect the fragile ceasefire agreement. Arthur also had to attend the first painful confrontation between Gaius and Balinor and, for once, he did not mind the abrupt way the man ends his conversations.

Gaius and his son met again later, but the prince left them alone this time. He swept away Merlin and they went to check the fountains and make sure the water ran clear and pure.

Merlin did not take long to discern under Balinor's gruff attitude the true feelings of the latter.

Uther had not leave much leeway to his son, but he did not see any wrong in the 'idiot' bringing his meal to the recluse or spending time in the enclosed white courtyard the sun bathed in light in late afternoon. Merlin came every day to see his father. He was able to help him handle the potions and prepare the concoctions. He babbled, twittered, chatted - enough to make up for years of absence. He noted with interest the strange amity that was born between the prince and his prisoner, his big blue eyes filled with clueless joy as he listened to the two men swapping their points of view with passion.

Arthur does not agree with all of Balinor's strange ideas, but he acknowledges that they are fascinating. He does not concede to a kingdom where the people's voices would weigh as much as their monarch's, but feels strangely attracted to the notion of equality between nobles and peasants, even if such a world hardly seems conceivable.

_After all, he is not himself a friend of three men whose lives and assessments he values as much as his own?_

His horse balks and he comes back to the present. They are on the crest overlooking the border of Cenred. Deep in the valley, a streak of smoke rises above a group of houses: probably the inn where they spent the night on their first trip.

He turns to Balinor and finds him looking at him thoughtfully.

\- "This is where we part ways", the dusky voice of the man says.

His eyes look warmly at Arthur.

\- "It's not the border yet", the prince objects. "There's at least a league to the Kingdom of Cenred. I will not risk you violating the terms of our agreement and staying on this side of the White Montains."

\- "I gave you _my word"_, Balinor counters.

Arthur glowers.

\- Oh. _Please_.

The man laughs, then resumes to seriousness.

\- "Will you explain to him?"

Arthur nods.

\- "Yes", he says.

He does not ask because he swore to Gaius he would not, but he surely would like to be given a darn clue as why the former dragonlord is leaving_ again_ without saying anything to his son.

Merlin deserved proper goodbyes.

\- "Will you go to Ealdor?"

Balinor turns away, contemplates the valley and the bird that crosses the immense pale sky.

\- "I'll stop by the village. I want to see where Hunith rests, pour wine over her grave and see if the squills blossomed."

Arthur bites his lips.

\- "Where will you go next?"

The man looks at him again, his brown eyes softening under his thick eyebrows.

\- "Why do you want to know, young prince? Are you going to hunt me down once the concord is over?"

\- "I'd like to know where Merlin could find you, if he wanted to, someday", is Arthur's muffled answer.

Balinor smiles sadly.

\- "It's better for him to stay in Camelot."

He urges on his horse on the path leading down to Cenred through the trees. Arthur hesitates, then he catches on him and blocks the passage with his steed.

The gnarled oaks around them are already beginning to engulf the light. The woods are darkening and the breeze weaves through the carpet of auburn leaves covering the brown earth that smells of moss and a little heady humidity.

\- "Were you planning on leaving without giving me the antidote, now?"

Balinor chuckles to himself.

\- "There never was need of an antidote", he says with a grin. "I merely gave you a draught that prevents spurts of boils… I just wanted to know if you were earnest."

\- "I suspected much…" groans Arthur with the sudden surge of doing something – like knocking the man to the ground and have him eat disgusting mushrooms sprinkled by fox's wee to make him pay.

But before he can even move, an arrow swishes through the trees and embedded itself in his saddle with a sharp sound.

A second later, he jumps from his horse and his ears are filled with yelling and clashing of metal, and he finds himself back to back with Balinor, fighting what has to be a patrol from Cenred ... definitely not on the good side of its border.

It does not last for long.

He is much more dexterous than most of his opponents and Balinor is far from being lame with a sword.

For a man who spends almost as much time as Gaius in dusty old books, Merlin's father shows rather surprising fighting skills.

Arthur gives a kick in the chest of the last soldier, sending him rounding down the slope before turning back, slightly breathless, to his traveling companion.

\- "Maybe Cenred is not the right destination for you", he says humorously. "You should try the beaches of Fyrien, they ..."

He does not have time to finish his sentence because the first soldier he took down props himself up on one elbow and shoots with his crossbow...

Arthur's eyes widen when he feels the shock taking his breath away and sending him to the ground. He crawls free, pushing aside the body of Balinor who collapsed after hurling him out of danger, ensures with a glance that the soldier who shot has fallen unconscious, then checks the former dragonlord frantically.

\- "What have you done?" he stammers.

\- "Were you not… taught… to say… thank you… Sire?" Balinor sputters, before strangling a cry of anguish as he pulls out the arrow stuck in his side.

\- "Why?" stutters Arthur, propping the man on his lap, trying to stop the blood gushing oh so abundantly from the wound.

\- "Because… you're… Merlin's friend… "

\- "I'll get you back to Camelot! Gaius will care for you…"

\- "No… No, it's too late. Believe me, I _am_ a physician", Balinor adds with a faint smile.

His features convulse and he arches in pain, panting hard. When he manages to breath slower again, he grabs Arthur's face in his callous hands, strongly enough to almost bruise him.

\- "Arthur… take care of him…. Please… take care of Merlin…"

\- "I will", promises the prince whose heart is shattering like glass.

_If it hurts that much to see Merlin's father die, what would it be if was _his _?_

Burning tears are prickling in his eyes and he fights them, holding the man close, pressing on the wound desperately.

_Oh, how can he go back to Camelot and tell Gaius his son is dead?_

_How will he be able to face Merlin when he has fail him?_

The man struggles to stay conscious.

\- "Listen to me, lad… no man is worth your tears… don't weep for the dead, for mourning does not bring back people… but forgiveness … and kindness… will… change a heart. You… must care… for the living, Arthur…"

\- "Seems I have the best teacher for that…" tries to joke Arthur hoarsely.

He feels life slipping out from the body of the man who grows heavy on his forearms, whose blood is soaking his shirt and breeches.

Balinor's arm has fallen back in the red-gold leaves. His pale face is contorted with pain, but his brown eyes are surprisingly appeased when they reopen softly.

\- "There will come… a time of great battles… and you'll have to lead an army… I know you're one of the strongest fighters among the five kingdoms… but it does not only takes spirit and strength to win, Arthur…"

The young man nods, swallowing the tears he does not want to shed, out of respect for this man of science who, in a month, has taught him more than all fencing masters the prince had since childhood.

\- "Arthur…"

\- "Shut up, you are even more talkative than Merlin", mutters the prince, biting his lip.

Balinor smiles, as if lost in a dream, then he writhes, moans, and his mouth fills with blood.

\- "Ar'th'r ..."

\- "I'm here", says the Prince through gritted teeth.

Balinor's hand crawls in the crunching dead leaves, back to his dark leather coat sticky with blood, looking for something in his pocket.

\- "H're ... i's ... f'r ... you ..."

Arthur grabs the trembling hand who does not have enough strength to hold the little wooden dragon.

\- "I will give it to Merlin", he promises with a heavy heart.

Balinor shakes his head weakly.

\- "No ... d'd two ... th'one.. f'r you ..."

His glassy brown eyes gaze softly at the young prince.

\- "Th'nk ... you ... si ... re ..."

His eyelashes flutter and his neck falls slowly back.

Arthur gently lays him on the ground covered with an autumnal carpet and contemplates him in silence, his fists clenched, with on his knee the little dragon identical to Merlin's one.

He stays like this for a long time, unmoving, then rises, his mind made up.

When he's done burying Balinor, he returns to Camelot, without looking back.

He announces the death of his son to Gaius and leaves the old man pale and slumped in front of his table potions, before going in search of Merlin.

When he finds him, he does not pause, he does not lie, he explains in a few words what happened, and then hold against him the sobbing boy, not saying a word.

Because Merlin is nothing more than a child whose father left without saying goodbye.

But Arthur is a man, and from that day onwards, he teaches his knights what he learned.

You do not stop to mourn the death of a warrior, you carry on what he started.

* * *

**_TBC_**

**Next chapter : Morgana makes her choice - finally! (we've been waiting for it).**

**_I know I have left to your imagination Gaius and Balinor's moments, but I can put them in a flashback sometime later, if you'd like._**

**_THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR YOUR REVIEWS AND SUPPORT ! It means the world to me..._**


	8. Where there's smoke, there's fire

**WHERE THERE'S SMOKE, THERE'S FIRE**

* * *

The forest is cloaked with white fog. The tawny leaves crunch dryly under the boots of the five men who are lining on a tree trunk covered with moss and lichen.

\- "When you're married, we won't be able to do that anymore ..." says Gwaine in between big bites of grilled fish.

Lancelot nods, his black eyes watching the crackling fire that gives off a thick gray smoke. The wood is wet and the drops that fall sometimes from the trees evaporate with a peaceful _frishtt_ when they touch the hot stones.

\- "That's right", Arthur states quietly.

He does not add that if his father discovered his brotherhood with commoners, it would be over _now_.

\- "Good thing the wedding was postponed until spring, then ..." Percival says placidly.

Behind them, the gnarled old oak creaks when the wind swirls through the forest.

It is too cold to spend the night out, so they all bunk together in Merlin's ridiculously small room and Arthur feels strangely left out. The next day, once he's sparred enough at the training site to make sure it won't attract suspicion, he leaves the drills to Sir Leon and runs to Gaius' chambers where he finds the gang trying to pretend the old physician's stodgy porridge is the _best_ breakfast they ever had. They spent the night chatting like _girls in petticoats_ and are yawning indecently as they greet the prince.

Arthur finds life _very_ unfair. He'd give everything to be part of this careless happiness.

Half joking, half serious, Merlin offers to exchange their roles, but it does not amuse him.

Hours go by too slowly and months too fast. The weather gets warmer and the trees are garlanded with tiny pink flowers, bright green buds and flustered birds.

While the sentinel reports to him, Arthur watches Guinevere and Lancelot from the top of the watchtower. They are coming back from the market. The young man carries the basket with a silly happy face and the maid explains something while looking at a piece of paper. They are laughing in a breeze of cherry petals. They stop at a stall, their hands graze as they chose potatoes, they are giggling stupidly.

These two have become really good friends this winter, when Lancelot was sick and he stayed in Gaius' chambers for several weeks. Gwaine is still the best to make the maid laugh out loud, but the young woman has taken in the habit to lowering her lids a little when Lancelot talks to her and smiling with a dab of pink on her cheeks. Even Percival, who is always the last to notice this kind of things, glances at them affectionately.

Arthur is puzzled. He should be jealous, shouldn't he? Yet he is not, _not really_, even if he feels slightly annoyed with their grins. He is beginning to understand that what draws him to Guinevere, more than her beauty or her courage, is the straightforward and earnest way she addresses him, like she's talking to a man, not to a prince. A bit like Merlin does.

_Like a__ conscience._

You do not marry your conscience, however. Even if the rustle of her dress brings a strange hotness to your neck.

And Arthur is desperately trying to fall in love with Elena of Gawant, because Uther is adamant: the wedding _will_ take place, no matter what his son thinks of the young woman:

\- "She's about as shy as a wild colt, Father."

\- "She has energy, I agree. A healthy woman brings joy to her husband."

\- "This old horror that serves as a nanny to her shows more grace than my betrothed."

\- "At least, Princess Elena exercises restraint in her advances, Arthur, like a proper lady. This Grunhilda… _overwhelms_ our poor Gaius with hers every time she's visiting the castle. The poor man is at the end of his wits."

\- "How can you imagine I will fall in love with a woman who snacks on _frogs_?"

\- "The Gauls are fond of this delicacy, I'm told."

It is hair pulling.

And Merlin is of no help, these days. Not only does he stay resolutely mute, lips tightened to signify he will not participate in any debate on the issue (he gave Arthur his uncompromising opinion: "people should marry for love, that's all"), but he also shows particularly nervous and upset every time he meets Morgana in a hallway. The only explanation that can be drawn out of him is a stubborn shake of his head and an enigmatic phrase, "uh-uh, not a good idea."

Arthur asked Guinevere about it and she just shrugged. She thinks Merlin does not like the new chambermaid of the princess, Sefa, who seems to be a quite nice and insignificant young person to the eyes of the prince. Morgana seems to get along very well with her and often takes her with her for a ride. Guinevere appreciates this friendship, especially since it exempts her from riding to accompany her mistress whenever she wants to escape the monotony of the castle.

Arthur does not see anything wrong with this: Morgana is smiling again since Sefa started working for her and it has not happened for a long time. Merlin must have misinterpreted _one_ word _once_, and this animosity is unfounded. The prince still insisted on accompanying his sister during one of her regular jaunts and vowed he would _never_ do that _again_. Apparently the idea of a successful afternoon for Morgana is to giggle while braiding bluebells with her maidservant. And he did not really like to be the target of the jokes of the princess who seems to enjoy much his distress about Lady Elena.

_There is no __need to worry._

_He is wrong to think so, but he does not know it yet._

He keeps on with his own routine, obeying his father, trying to stay awake during the boring lessons that Geoffrey of Monmouth gives him on the laws and decrees of Camelot, participating in councils where his opinion is asked more and more often, training the knights with Sir Leon, mapping the kingdom, winning tournaments, courting Lady Elena with as much good will he can muster - and _blessed_ be the thick snow that paralyzed the roads for _most_ of the winter and prevented him from traveling to the estate of Lord Godwyn, giving him a perfect excuse - attending banquets and patrolling to look out for bandits ... and sneaking to the croaked oak whenever he gets the chance, to breath away from the pressure.

Because he just can't seem to see how to disentangle the skein. To know _where_ to start, _how_ to change, _what_ to do with all he has learned, experienced, discovered since two years ago, when he stopped thinking like Uther Pendragon, the man who betrayed his mother, the one on whom he had based his life, his father.

For weeks, he behaves well then - it took him long and he nearly missed his last chance – Arthur finally manages to be true to himself and to tell his father he will not go through with the wedding.

This is his first step, his first personal decision on this long road mapped out before him.

He is just _a bit_ embarrassed that he waited until Lady Elena was walking down the red carpet in her embroidered silky dress to take her hand and tell her he was sorry but he was not going to marry her.

There is quite an uproar in the great hall and Uther's forehead veins look ready to burst… when the young woman giggles, amused, and says she is quite pleased he has spoken before she would.

For all her clumsiness and not-very-dainty-like personality, she _has_ honor and Arthur has grown quite attached to her – as a _friend_.

He is _baffled_ she feels this way too and _very pleased_ to learn that he won't break her heart : knights aren't supposed to make ladies shed tears.

The king is infuriated and ready to throw his son in the dungeons and have him marry the lady anyway – maybe not in this order.

But Elena's father - who happens to be the closest thing to a best friend to Uther – soothes him and drags him out of the great hall. Lord Godwyn is disappointed with the marriage not happening, of course, but is impressed by Arthur's sheer determination and his well-turned speech.

The dignified and calm tone of the prince has offended no one, he was courteous and there is some truth in what he said: a miserable king won't bring anything good to his queen and his people.

_-__ "I hope you find happiness with a man who loves you with all his heart."_

Uther paces for a while, growling and blowing like an angry wild boar, his eyes narrowed. Then he stops in front of the window, runs a hand through his gray hair wearily.

He _knows_ exactly where this ridiculous idea that noble or commoner should be able to choose their way comes from and he is determined to fight it with all his might.

Balinor will not poison the mind of his son.

\- "Don't punish him, Uther. Arthur will be a great king someday. You should be proud of him. And perhaps, it is time that some of the old traditions are changed ..."

Elena goes back home after offering the prince to beat him in a horserace anytime he feels the desire to and Arthur smiles back sincerely.

\- "Goodbye, my lady."

Merlin gives him a nudge.

\- "You'll miss her, won't you?"

The prince waits for the visitors to have crossed the drawbridge, then snorts.

\- "Goodness."

He grabs his servant, sticks him under his armpit, and drags him to his chambers. The weather is beautiful and he has not felt this good in months.

This is the perfect time for a nice hunt that will lift up Morgana's spirits and make Merlin grumble endlessly. _Just what will keep Arthur in this wonderful mood._

Summer comes at the speed of a runaway horse, fills the days with splashing and laughter, and the nights with songs of troubadours and locusts. Wheat stems are waving in the fields, blond and heavy grains promising a good harvest, reserves for long. The sky is big, bright and blue as Merlin's eyes. They have not seen a single bandit raid for weeks.

Everything is fine, except the king's health is not very good. He's plagued with frequent migraines, sleeps poorly because of nightmares and none of the potions Gaius gives him seems to relieve him. Arthur is worried about his father, but Uther is more concerned with the rumors that could spread. If their enemies were to learn he is sick, Camelot would be jeopardized.

The monarch therefore insists in attending the audiences himself and responding in person to the requests presented to him.

Arthur is quite surprised, however, to see him take seriously the story of a shepherd who says he saw smoke rising from the ruins of Idirsholas somewhere far in the North. The peasants tremble in their breeches: apparently this is a bad omen. The prince thinks they should pay more attention to Sir Leon's reports about the hundreds of mercenaries migrating to Cenred's kingdom with alarming regularity, but Uther raises his hand impatiently.

\- "Take one or two men with you and go check what happened. The Knights of Medhir are not to be taken lightly."

\- "You can't be serious, Father! These are _legends_, just as 'dangerous' as ghosts."

Well, apparently this _is_ the point for the king who struggles every night with the shadows of the past and the cries of those he executed during the Great Purge.

Arthur leaves at dawn the next day, with Merlin as only companion.

He usually does not take the lad with him on patrols. Mainly because on such parties squires can fill in for a servant's duties, but also because he would not know what to do with the gawky boy if they were attacked by bandits: tell him to hide in a bush? There's _no way_ Merlin would comply. He'd rather jump into battle to try saving his master and end up wounded – or _worse_.

And there is a third reason the prince avoids doing so, even though Merlin has practically _begged_ him to let him go with the knights: he does not like killing people but he knows it has to happen in order to protect peace in the Kingdom. When they are patrolling and have to fight, he does, and after so many years, it does not affect him anymore to see the corpses scattered around them when the woods come back to quietness. But somehow, he does not want Merlin to see this side of him.

Maybe that's why the knights leave their families behind at the castle and put on a bright smile when they enter the courtyard and see their loved ones waiting for them down the white stairs. Sir Leon's young wife runs to him and she has _no idea_ how much fuss he made, back then at the forest stream, to make sure there weren't too many blood stains on his cloak.

So Arthur squares his tired shoulders, puts on his best prattish face as he dismounts, and lets Merlin's oblivious chirping wash away the bitter stench of death.

But this time, the place for which they are heading is so dull there will certainly be no battle, no bandits, nothing but stinky sheep and nettles that sting you when you slip into the woods to answer Nature's call.

There are three days until the bare moors that surround the ruins of Idirsholas and Arthur is in no hurry.

His last talk with his father went wrong.

* * *

_-__ "You spend too much time away from the castle and you neglect your duties. I'm beginning to think you behave less like a prince and more and more like a commoner. Do not think I'm fooled, Arthur. I _know_ Balinor tried to convert you to his refractory ideas and I won't let you to fall into the trap of his words." _

_\- "Balinor has nothing to do with my behavior, Sire. I don't need anyone to tell me what to think and how to see what is necessary to the welfare of my people._

_\- "Wonderful thinking of yours which cost us a valuable alliance with the house of Gawant! And explain to me why I'm told you give more importance to the words of this idiot than to those around you that are born from noble families?"_

_\- "Sir Elric was wrong and it has been proven, Father."_

_\- "Nevertheless, you can not humiliate a knight because your manservant is right! Arthur, I think it is time that you separate yourself from that boy. How old is he?"_

_\- "I don't know. Twenty, perhaps twenty-one."_

_Merlin looked like a rangy sixteen or seventeen years old lad when he arrived in Camelot and he may well have grown taller of a dozen centimeters since, his features have not changed one bit._

_\- "Nearly coming of age, then. It is clear he can never exceed the limits of his mental impairment. He served you well, but now your responsibilities are increasing, you have to get rid of him. It is totally inappropriate for the Crown Prince of Camelot to be followed everywhere by a gangly idiot."_

_\- "But, Father, Merlin ..."_

_-__ "Enough! Gaius will keep using him as an errand boy and he will serve in the kitchen or the stables, wherever his clumsiness will cause the least hindrance. I don't know how you got yourself so fond of his presence, Arthur. Really, I do not understand."_

_-__ "If you'd take time to actually care for your people, or me, you would know! Merlin changes people's lives, there is something bright in him ... and ... he's my ... my fr-"_

_-__ "Nonsense! A prince has no use for the company of a peasant boy and I won't hear more of this rambling! As soon as you come back from patrol, I will ask the Steward to assign you another servant. Not a word, Arthur. I am your father and you king. You will show me respect and obedience."_

* * *

A clap of thunder rumbles in the clear sky and Merlin jumps. His horse swerves and the prince's steed answers with a nickering, pulling his rider out of his gloomy thoughts.

\- "What is it? Another of these funny feelings of yours?"

The lanky boy shakes his head.

\- "No-o. It's going to rain."

Arthur looks up and scans the horizon.

\- "I don't think so. There's not a cloud. It was your stomach, I bet."

\- "I'm not Lady Elena", Merlin protests, laughing.

His blue glaze rests on his master, a little worried.

\- "You all right, Arthur?"

\- "Hmm."

\- "Did you argue with the king?"

The prince winces.

\- "Is it _that_ obvious?"

The young servant takes the time to pat the sweaty neck of his horse.

\- "We went hotfoot, as if you wanted to put as many leagues as possible between you and the castle."

\- "It's just so hot that spending six days macerating in the same clothes without taking a single bath seems to be something to be quickly over with."

The dark eyebrows arch, insightful.

\- "You swam for _two hours_ in the river last night while I was doing _laundry_."

\- "It is _your_ smell I don't want to put up with."

Merlin does not even flinch.

\- "The King has a headache, that's why he's angry with everyone", he says after a moment of silence.

The hoofs of their horses trot silently on the soft earth that exhales a heather fragrance.

\- "And he's worried about the Lady Morgana."

It is Arthur's turn to frown.

\- "The Lady Morgana?" he repeats, surprised. "Why?"

Merlin hesitates, almost as if he is going to betray a secret.

\- "The guards caught her. _Twice_. It's Sefa's fault. Guinevere never agreed with the princess going out at night and ..."

Arthur pulls suddenly on the reins and his horse stops with an indignant neighing.

\- "_Morgana_ leaves the castle _at night_?"

\- "Every Wednesday night. It's been a year, now", tersely informs his servant, before embarking on a breathless speech, as if he had waited for this question to empty everything weighting on his heart. "She doesn't like anyone to follow her, so Guinevere said it was fine if Sefa accompanied her at least now, because Sefa has a small dagger, but I don't think this is a good idea. Sefa is _not_ a very good person and the Lady Morgana cries when she comes back and then the blonde lady told her things that frighten her and I told Guinevere she needs to tell you and she scolded me because it could make you feel bad and I don't want you to be angry again like the first time, but I didn't tell Guinevere because she couldn't know who it is but I _think_ it is not a good friend for her and now the princess is not fine _at all_, and if the king learns she has seen the blonde lady he _will_ get angry and the Lady Morgana will throw a fit again ... "

Arthur interrupts the stream of words with an imperious gesture.

\- "_Wait_. Stop. What blonde lady, Merlin? What do you mean? Why would my father and I be upset about this new friend of Morgana's? And for the love of mud, _how_ comes my sister manages to convince her servants it's right to let her out of the castle _at night_? The woods around Camelot are anything but a place for a lady!"

A thought crosses his mind and his eyes blaze.

\- "Unless ... Don't tell me she meets this person in the _tavern_!" he utters, horrified at the thought of his royal sister visiting the sordid place full of rude and dangerous men.

\- "No, no, not at all", protests Merlin, alarmed.

He launches back into scrambled explanations and Arthur must dismount and lead his horse by the bridle to sort out what he hears.

When he believes he has a grasp over what's happening, he ponders about shortening this stupid dispatch to the ruins of Idirsholas to return at full speed to the castle.

This blonde lady Morgana is secretly meeting may be their half-sister Morgause, and even if she did not indicate any intention to harm them the only time Arthur met her, he remembers her pale, cold eyes and the uncanny smile that adorned the delicate mouth of the young woman. Morgane is so impressionable, so young and so naive ... if Morgause has met her in secret for so long, who knows what has been drilled into her head? Painful, bitter, demanding thoughts... which would explain the dark moods of the princess in the last months.

\- "Arthur?"

The prince shakes his head to get rid of the blond locks falling into his eyes and of the feeling of uneasiness.

\- "You should have told me", he scolds. "Morgana should not endanger herself and dwell on the past with a woman who is nothing but _a stranger_ to us. I will have a word with her when we return. Anything _else_ you've been hiding from me?"

\- "Nothing", breathes Merlin sheepishly, adding with concern: "Will Guinevere be in trouble now you don't fancy her anymore?"

Arthur chokes on his own saliva.

\- "WHAT? _Mer_lin, I hope you don't believe me to be so versatile! I don't change my attitude towards a servant according to my mood or my… _fancies_!

\- "Why are you so mean to Georges, then?" asks innocently his manservant.

\- "I'm not _mean_ to him! Georges is just the dullest and the most boring servant I ... and you know what, _Mer_lin, I think _you_ are the one in trouble!" Arthur says, getting back on his saddle and engaging in the pursuit of the boy who started to chuckle when he heard him rant about the man who usually replaces him at the prince's service.

They make it to the ruins before dark. Once the horses are settled outside, Arthur draws his sword and goes in search of whatever was the source of the smoke seen a week earlier by the shepherd. Merlin leaves the saddlebags on the ground and cautiously follows him.

The prince stifles an amused smile watching from the corner of his eye how his manservant walks side-stepping and sticks out his slender neck to look all around him.

It is cold and dark in the castle. Thick and white cobwebs cling to the pillars and the statues as ethereal lace curtains.

As he expected, Arthur finds a brazier in what must be the old armory.

\- "Probably just travellers passing through", he sighs. "So much for ghosts. My poor father must be very sick to believe such nonsense ..."

\- "Arthur", Merlin says in a funny voice.

\- "Oh, that's not how you're going to scare me", Arthur snickers over his shoulder. "It takes much more for me to scream like a_ girl_, like did a certain servant when a bat pulled his hair the night before last ..."

But Merlin's hand tugs at his sleeve.

\- "_Arthur_", he presses.

The prince spins on his heels, a mocking reflection on his lips, which goes off at the moment his eyes meet the black figure who crept on them.

Something heavy scrapes on the pavement behind him, the moon gleaming through the narrow loopholes slides with a metal glint on his right ...

They are cornered.

Arthur inhales deeply, reaches out and pushes his servant to his left in the same move he slaughters the first of his assailants.

\- "Run, Merlin! GO!"

They are four or five, probably not more: big beards, armors made of odds and ends, absolutely pestilential breaths. _Bandits_. Arthur wields his sword, wraps his cloak with a swift motion around his forearm and uses it to ward off the blows.

_Where's Merlin? If they can get out of this room and to the horses, they might have a chance. Where is Merlin, for goodness' sake? Is he already outside, has he been captured?_

Someone bumps against his shoulder and he catches a glimpse of a mop of black hair and blue eyes frightened but determined.

\- "_MER_LIN! WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR? DO AS I SAY!" yells the prince, furious and terrified.

His manservant does not bother to answer. He found a piece of wood – a half spear or something of the like - and he _is_ defending his master as clumsily as it was to be expected.

_Oh gods, they will kill him in less than a minute._

Arthur renews his efforts in the melee, but it's hopeless. There are too many, they keep coming from nowhere, they will never get out ...

\- "Hurry, Sire!"

Merlin pulls him by his cloak, half chokes him as he clings to him from behind and Arthur does not understand what he is doing until a pile of stones collapses between him and his assailants in a chalky cloud. Coughing and spluttering, he comes out of the citadel, followed by his manservant, and stumbles, trying to catch his breath, a chortle on his lips.

\- "Well done! Who would have thought? You saved my life, Merlin!"

The gangly boy glares at him, still frightened, panting and covered in white dust.

\- "We were _lucky_ the place was ready to crumble any time", he snaps. "Ha! There were tough _ghosts_, this lot!"

Arthur giggles, relief washing over his shoulders. He sheathes his sword and smiles.

\- "I think you just proved my father wrong. You're a great bodyguard, _Mer_lin. Fighting with _walls_ is not a gift everyone has!"

His grin fades off a bit when he notices the gash in his servant's jacket.

\- "What happened to your arm?"

Merlin winces slightly when he touches the bleeding cut.

\- "Oh, I must have caught in on something."

Arthur positively beams.

\- "Your first battle wound! Congratulations!"

He rips a piece of his tunic.

\- "Don't! You'll ruin it", squeals Merlin.

\- "Don't worry. You can mend it, says Arthur as he swiftly ties the piece of cloth around the small wound. "Here, that's better. I don't want to bring you back too banged up to Gaius."

Merlin breathes through his nose and opens his mouth to reply sharply.

And that's the last thing Arthur sees before collapsing on the ground when something whacks him from behind with brutality.

* * *

When he regains consciousness, he is at the bottom of a well, spread on moldy straw that reeks of urine, in a circle of men in rags staring at him.

\- "Merlin?" he mumbles.

His manservant's face pops up above him.

\- "Arthur! You're awake!"

He reaches out to the young man and hoists him to his feet. Arthur sways, dizzy, then casts a glance around him, quickly, to assess the situation.

_Captured. They have been captured. Where is this place? Who detains them prisoners? Do they know he is the heir to Camelot?_

Someone slaps his shoulder and the prince turns round immediately, growling.

\- "Touch me again, you die."

Two brown eyes flash a smile at him and the man raises his hands in front of him, laughing.

\- "No manners, you royals."

\- "Gwaine!" Merlin chirps and his blue eyes fill up with hope while the man ruffles his hair affectionately.

Arthur looks at his friend from top to bottom.

\- "What are _you_ doing here?"

\- "Well, you know… wrong place, wrong time, wrong drink", eludes the man, throwing back his hair with his usual cheeky smile.

The prince rolls his eyes.

\- "Nothing's changed there, then... what have you done with Percival and Lancelot? Are they here as well?"

Gwaine looks offended.

\- "I'm not _all the time_ with them. I have me life. We're not married, y'know."

Arthur scoffs.

He looks around, his fists on his hips, examines the place, the people gathered around them, the oozy walls, calculates their chances to escape from this prison.

\- "Where are we?" he asks in his sharp 'I'm the leader' voice.

Merlin recognizes the attitude his master takes when he gets on his horse before going out to patrol and he immediately tucks his rangy limbs along his scrawny body, ready to respond to the first order like a good soldier.

\- "In the well of an old castle. Belongs to a fellow named Jarl", answers Gwaine."Lovely bloke. Slave trader."

\- "Oh."

Arthur nibbles his lips, deep in thought, when spittle falls into the well and misses his cheek by an inch. He looks up, outraged, and meets the fiendish eyes of the ugliest man he ever met.

\- "Well, well, well, you filthy vermin. Which one of you's ready to face my champion in the arena for the pleasure of my beautiful lady?"

Gwaine clears his throat discreetly.

\- "Beautiful" is a tad exaggerated, I must say", he whispers under his brown beard.

The thug leaning on the edge of the well, far above them, moistens his lips and points a grime nail towards Merlin.

\- "You, the locust."

\- "Me?" repeats the manservant in a slightly strangled voice, glancing in distraught around him.

The man bursts into crude laughter. Arthur grinds his teeth and steps forward.

\- "Hey!" he shouts. "Who is this so-called champion? Can he crush nothing but weaklings like this one?"

\- "Oy", grunts Merlin.

Jarl scratches his ear for a moment, then blows on what he extracted from his ear canal and chews the inside of his mouth with satisfaction.

\- "Why? You think you could offer a better show to the fairest of them all?"

\- "Arthur, _no_", mumbles Gwaine.

\- "I guarantee it", Arthur says firmly, pushing Merlin behind him in what he thinks is a discreet motion but that is not lost at all to the slave trader.

\- "Very well. But if you lose, I'll feed your little friend the dragonfly here to the crows piece by stinking piece."

Merlin shivers despite his unwavering trust in Arthur.

\- "I will not lose", asserts the prince with his most contemptuous look.

Jarl's abominable smile widens even more.

\- "So, are you ready, my champion?" he calls.

There is a moment of silence, then Gwaine looks up, very serious.

\- I am, he says.

* * *

_**TBC**_

* * *

**_Based on episodes: 2x12, 3x01, 3x02, 3x12_**


	9. Long, Long Way Home

** LONG, LONG WAY HOME**

* * *

The brutish crowd around them chants "blood, blood, blood," and the room echoes with these guttural bawls. Braziers are casting fulvous shadows on the stone walls blackened with smoke and grime. The "fairest of them all" claps merrily: she is a creature with massive boobs, shaggy brassy hair and the nose of a Goblin, dressed in a garish frock. At her side is Jarl, a smutty look on his face, seated in his armchair covered with furs and tanned pelts. Next to him stands a gorilla dressed in woollen rags who is twisting Merlin's arm behind his back.

Arthur's eyes go back to Gwaine in front of him and he can not hide a frustrated sigh.

_Of all the hopeless or ridiculous situations he went through in his life, _this_ is probably the worst._

He tightens his hand on the pommel of the shabby sword they have given him and starts the fight.

Gwaine takes it seriously and obviously they have to, since there isn't really another option. If one does not kill each the other, the _three_ of them will die. The prince's brains are working at full speed. If only he could create confusion, they _could_ manage to run away. He remembers which way they were brought out of the well and in the dimly lit room stuffed with half drunk thugs.

They are in one of the outposts Merlin and him spotted while going to the ruins of Idirsholas. This tower is probably one of the scarce places in the moors where the ceiling does not drip when it rains. If they can get out, they will have a chance - slim, _very slim_, but big enough - to reach the bogs and hide there. The bandits will not follow them on horses in such a dangerous area. It is night. It means they could be safe in the forest by morning if they did not stop.

He is drenched in sweat, his split lip is bleeding and a bruise pulses under his brow. They are no more fighting with swords, now, but wrestling on the dirty floor. Gwaine is no better looking than him – well, the tussle has to look _real_.

Still it does not stop Arthur from glaring furiously at his opponent when the latter shoves his knee in the prince's midriff.

\- "Kill, kill, kill!" vociferate the bandits, and they splash the gunky tiles with bad vine when they toast.

Straw and mud mat Gwaine's hair and he keeps one eye shut, while scuffling off his opponent with a grin.

\- " What happens next?" he gasps.

Arthur would love to know as well.

That's when a yelp of pain shots in the din, followed immediately by a mess worthy of the most sordid tavern. Merlin just bit the man who restrained him. The man has let go of him, stepped back and then - well, it is not entirely clear, but it seems a candelabra fell on the threadbare canopy overhanging the seat of the "fairest of them all" and has set fire to the lady's dress and to the curtains soaked in boar grease and ale during the previous orgies.

In the panic, Gwaine and Arthur jump on their feet, pick up their swords and make their way through the thugs and the thick smoke. They grab Merlin and sprint at the top of their lungs towards the exit.

It is only when they reach the peat bogs in the night, that they allow themselves to stop to catch their breath. The moon is high above them and glints in the water holes.

\- "Come on", Arthur orders hoarsely, after casting a glance at the sky quickly filling with dark clouds. "Let's hurry, before the light disappears, if we don't want to end up drowned like rats."

They leave behind the burning tower and stumble along the spongy mounds covered with sphagnum moss and bulrushes.

When the sun rises, they are almost at the edge of the forest, exhausted, covered in mire (they all fell flat at some point), heads clogged by the acid fumes, boots soggy and cold.

Arthur suspects Merlin of walking on autopilot. He himself staggers, weary, and relies on the tip of his sword to walk straight, his eyes feeling terribly graveled. Gwaine touched some unknown plant and is rubbing his itching forearm while muttering like a madman.

_Good news is, they have not been followed._

When they finally enter the trees canopy and the ground starts to be a little more solid under their soles, the prince decides it's time to take a break.

Merlin collapses on a pile of dried leaves and falls asleep in a matter of seconds following the statement. Gwaine looks at him fondly, before leaving on his slightly wobbly legs.

\- "Where're you going?" Arthur calls back with a frown.

His thighs are trembling with fatigue, and his damp shirt dabbing against the skin of his back is extremely unpleasant.

\- "To get something to eat, your Highness", answers the young bearded man over his shoulder. "I don't fancy fasting any longer. You might have your princely paunch to keep you from starving, but _I _don't and Merlin can't afford to lose more weight, he'd become invisible."

Arthur manages not to yelp "I'm not _fat_!" and painfully hoists himself up.

_Wood_. _Water. Rest._

_Basics._

First, they need to start a fire and dry their clothes. There is a stream somewhere close, they will be able to quench their thirst before they start on the long journey home to Camelot. And they will need to rest at some point if they want to make it through the summer heat.

When Merlin's eyelids flutter open, he finds his master grumbling between his teeth because he keeps failing at igniting the pile of wet wood. The lanky boy yawns widely, then gets up and takes the two stones from Arthur quietly.

\- "Let me do it, sire."

\- "Ha! Finally, you deign gracing us with your presence", groans the prince who let him sleep on purpose. "I was wondering if it'd slipped your attention that you're my _manservant_, and so are _not supposed_ to be _snoring_ during your working hours."

Merlin ignores the gibe and lights the fire in less than a minute. He coughs and sputters when thick smoke rises, moves back and sits on a rock covered in moss.

\- "Where's Gwaine?"

\- "Here and he found us some breakfast", trumpets the young man behind them, leaning to pass under a branch.

He sits down next to Merlin and opens his tunic in which he has nestled half a dozen eggs. They cook them under the ashes. Arthur feels a bit squeamish when he finds a half roasted chick in one of the shells, but he eats it with a grimace, because he knows they need all their strength for the trip back.

\- "It's a five or six days walking to Camelot. We need to get horses."

\- "Yeah", agrees Gwaine who is watching Merlin burning his fingers as he sucks up the contents of the last egg (not even consulting each other, the two men casually left it to him). "We need to get there faster. I'm looking forward to telling Perceval how I crushed you in the arena."

The prince clears his throat.

\- "You never did. That was just a _game_."

Gwaine winks and his smile grows bigger in his beard.

\- "Oh, a game, _right_. I won that game, did I not?"

\- " No, you didn't," Arthur protests. "One more minute..."

\- "Oh, enough with you two!" Merlin cuts in, annoyed. "One more minute and you both would've been dead. Neither of you won. Your so-called plan was a half-baked disaster, and if it was not for that fire we would all be pushing up daisies!"

The two men exchange a look and Gwaine reaches out and ruffles the dark hair of the boy.

\- "When did you become so skinny, _Lancelot_?" he chuckles.

\- "Give back that egg, Merlin", Arthur growls, failing to hide his amusement.

The servant hurries to swallow what's left of his breakfast, squirming to evade Gwaine's hand and glaring at them reproachfully.

The sun is getting higher in the sky and so is the not very discreet smoke.

By late afternoon, they pass by a village and Arthur complains about his bag full of gold coins left at the ruins of Idirsholas. They will never be able to negotiate horses, so far from Camelot, no one will recognize his royal face. Gwaine taps him on the shoulder and takes off his boot, triggering protests from Merlin who pinches his nose.

\- "Allow me put you in debt, Sire", says the young man pulling a few coins from under his sole.

Arthur snorts wryly.

\- "And here, they say money has no smell ..."

He gives a shove to his friend with satisfaction and begins the way down through the trees towards the houses.

Two days later, they reach the Darkling Woods and camp under the shelter of a rock. Merlin is busy putting ceps on a twig, babbling as usual, when Arthur suddenly raises his arm.

\- "Listen."

His servant tilts his head aside after a while.

\- "I don't hear anything."

\- "Exactly", whispers the prince.

\- "Never satisfied, you city types", joshes Gwaine. "It's too noisy, it's too quiet ..."

He does not have time to finish his sentence because the horses suddenly go into a fit of neighing and struggling before they _run off_.

\- "I had tied the bridles right, I promise!" exclaims Merlin right away.

Gwaine picks up his sword and his focused face no longer looks ready to jest.

\- "D'you think they found us?" he whispers to Arthur whose eyes survey the undergrowth.

\- "They'd have gotten to us much earlier ..." answers the prince in a strained voice.

He kicks the fire, disperses and crushes the embers under his heels, swamps them in the soft black earth wet from the tepid late afternoon rain. As the evening darkens, they will be an easy target if they stay in the light.

\- "Merlin, hide under the rock", he orders.

\- "Won't."

Irritated, he glances at his manservant who stood up and is now looking around, trying hard to hide his fear, armed with a porous piece of wood that barely stands a chance to bruise the enemy's forehead.

\- "Put this ridiculous twig down and do _as I say_", Arthur hisses.

Merlin shakes his head stubbornly.

Gwaine clicks his tongue before the prince adds a word and points at a group of trees.

\- "There."

The two men split up and move slowly, knees bent, their swords ready to strike.

A thud in their backs startled them and they spin round immediately, only to come face to face with a soldier form Cenred's army, who just jump off the rock above the camp.

Arthur's eyes widen in astonishment, but Gwaine bears down on the enemy without such qualms. And since other soldiers are bursting through the bushes, the prince is quickly distracted from the long series of questions hatching in his mind.

_Cenred? Here? But this is leagues and leagues away from the border! What does it mean? What was that disturbing report of Sir Leon again? How many mercenaries gathered on enemy land? Was it 5000, 10,000 or 20,000? Camelot is only two days' march from here ... is the city safe?_

Glitters of metal illuminate the night and pained grunts mingle with the rustling of dry leaves.

Arthur whirls, wielding his sword at the attackers dressed in black and red uniforms. They are only three or four of them, it should be over quickly. Gwaine can easily take down half a dozen men all by himself, even when he's drunk. And the prince prides himself on his ability to double that number easily.

He steps aside to regain his balance and his foot slips on the moss at the foot of a tree. For a split second his guard is down and the sword of his opponent lashes his leg. He lets go of a bark of pain and falls on his knee, clutching his thigh as blood gushes out of the wound and stains the stiff fabric of his dirty breeches.

Nausea rises in his esophagus and Arthur swears under his gritted teeth. If he was not exhausted by the constant ups and downs of this journey, he would be able to get up, he would not already feel his head spinning and his vision darkening.

The last thing he hears is Merlin's cry, then he falls into blissful unconsciousness.

* * *

When he wakes up, it's Gwaine's face above him, this time. The young bearded man looks worried.

\- "Hey, princess. Back with us?"

Arthur winces and spits the saliva which thickens his mouth. He manages somehow to sit without passing out again.

\- "We need to go", he mumbles, exasperated by the slowness of his jaws to form words.

\- "Okay", says Gwaine, oddly complying.

Arthur accepts the hand that hoists him to his feet and, when the dizziness stops, he is very crossed to find out it is _the next day_.

\- "What are we still doing here? We should have left at dawn!" he snarls, getting rid of what was keeping him from the night's chill and must be the jacket of his servant.

Merlin, who was kneeling beside him, swabbing his forehead with a cloth, whines a ridiculous excuse (something like: "you had a terrible fever"), but the prince does not even listen, already heading to Camelot with a heavy limp.

Gwaine arches an eyebrow, then gives Merlin a rueful smile.

\- "Come on. We can't leave him alone, I don't think he'd get along very well with the giant scorpions."

The gangly boy pales to the end of his protruding ears. He picks up his jacket and totters behind the bearded young man.

\- "Giant scorpions?"

\- "Serkets, they're called. The Darkling Woods are riddled with them", launches Gwaine over his shoulder, his brown eyes anxiously watching the prince who hastens his pace despite of the agony in his leg, never looking back.

_Please let Camelot be still standing._

_Please let Morgana and the king be safe._

_And Guinevere, and Gaius, and the people ..._

Arthur keeps moving forward like in a dream, not feeling the fever raging under his brow, the fierce throbbing of the wound, his hot and heavy leg. A knot in his guts, his sweaty hand tightened on the pommel of his sword, he wears out his eyes trying to see through the vegetation, never slowing down.

The sky is blue. The sky is blue. ... The sky is swept with blackish traces, as if columns of smoke were slowly fading off. His heart falls like a stone in his chest. He hurries, does not hear Gwaine calling up to him to slow down or he'll end up passing out. His blood is scorching in his veins and white flashes of pain are searing through his head.

The red and gold sun rays ablaze the horizon's crest when Arthur stumbles up the last hill and stands at the top, his shaky hand leaning on a tree.

His ears ring and for a moment, his whole body feels so numb it's like he is not even here. Then fatigue, the sting of the wound and fear like he has never experimented before fuse along in his spine. Nausea overwhelms him and he shivers violently.

\- "Oh no ..." breathes Gwaine who just got to the hilltop as well.

The towers of Camelot are rising in front of them on the other side of the valley, above the trees.

_In flames._

The prince keels over and his friend just manages to catch him up before he collapses.

\- "Arthur!" Merlin cries, rushing to them before he stops, petrified, his blue eyes filled with the desolation of the valley.

The path to the castle, the villages and the fields, even the bridge leading to the cover of the trees... everything is burned, destroyed, thrown to the ground and crushed like under the foot of a giant. And beyond the forest, the so beautiful white towers are broken.

Gwaine lowers Arthur to the ground.

\- "They were besieged ..."

The young bearded man throws back his wavy hair and nods grimly.

\- "Who did this?" utters the prince, in a daze.

Gwaine puts his hand on his friend's shoulder and squeezes it quietly.

\- "Cenred's army, I bet ... his soldiers aren't lingering around to pick up mushrooms ..."

Merlin's long legs buckle under him and he sits heavily.

\- "Gaius ... " he gasps.

His dark eyelashes flutter quickly, as if he's trying to hold back his tears, and he turns to his master.

\- "We must save them, Arthur ..."

Gwaine is about to say "we'd need an army for that" when the prince straightens.

\- "They may have not yet taken the citadel. The king ... if the king is still fighting out there ... there is still hope. Let's go."

And somehow, he gets up again and marches down to Camelot.

_And Merlin follows him without hesitation._

Gwaine contemplates them for a moment.

\- "Mad. They're mad ..." he mumbles.

Then he runs to catch up with them.

Night has fallen when they reach the lower town, silent and pale.

The road is littered with corpses and the stench of death and decay is unbearable in the summer heat. There is not a single house standing in the village. Men, women, children, old folks, livestock, cats… every single life was massacred. Arthur stopped counting the knights of Camelot whom red cloaks bloom like poppies amid the overturned carts, the walls in ashes and the spilled stalls. Hay forks and swords are strewn on the road rutted by war machines, the barricades are broken and there are so many - _so many_ \- bodies everywhere. Outstretched hands, arms tight to protect babies stiffened in death, faces contorted with fear and suffering. Torn dresses and protruding arrows, frayed flags, doors slammed by the wind in the eerie silence, mud in which a crimson stream makes its way.

_It was a slaughter._

Arthur does not slow down and Gwaine wonders when he will fall, betrayed by his exhausted body. Merlin looks ghastly and his blue eyes are haunted. He grabbed the sleeve of the bearded young man when they entered the village and has not let go of it since. He walks unsteadily, his shoulders shrunk. Gwaine is almost glad he still feels the boy's slender fingers clutching the rough fabric of his shirt: it means he has not lost him along the way - at least it's something comforting.

There is no-one in the streets swallowed by night and horror. No one _alive_, that is. The drawbridge is not guarded and they don't meet anyone as they sneak into the castle through the service quarters.

They hear songs from afar, catch glimpses of lights and shadows.

\- "The soldiers must be in the main courtyard", whispers Gwaine when Arthur stops, staggering, to listen at the end of a hallway.

\- "In the barracks, the apartments of the knights and nobles rooms, too, probably", the prince reckons, breathing heavily.

His face is pale, drenched in sweat. His nose is pinched and purple shadows are smudging under his eyes.

\- "You can't go on like this", mutters Gwaine, helping him to sit on the window sill.

\- "We must find my father", rasps Arthur, grinding his teeth against the pain. "We must find _someone_ who can tell us what happen… learn where they locked the king. They can't have killed him yet..."

\- "The survivors fled into the forest, that would explain the patrol we met", Gwaine says thoughtfully.

_But how many of them? This huge army devastated the entire city, probably at the speed of lightning._

\- "They were taken by surprise", pants the prince. "But I don't understand _how_ the citadel fell so easily ..."

\- "They're all gone."

Gwaine looks up at Merlin's dull voice and he realizes it's been a few minutes he no longer feels the soft tugging on his sleeve.

The manservant takes a few steps down the hallway. He presses his forehead against a tinted window, then comes back to them and the young man is frightened by the consuming anguish in the cobalt orbs.

\- "Arthur can't go on without treatment", Merlin says in a strange empty tone. "You have to get him to Gaius."

_Gaius could be dead, for all they know,_ Gwaine thinks, dreary.

\- "No", wheezes the prince. "We must find my father, gather information."

The moon slithers in, casting a blue sheen on Arthur's forehead beaded by the fever and the clammy hands the gawky boy clasps in front of him.

\- "I ..." begins Gwaine, just before his attention is drawn by a shadow down the hallway, dancing on the tiled floor.

He drags the prince in a corner, hissing a warning to Merlin who tumbles into hiding.

Something falls and shatters in the dark and they freeze.

The shadow stopped at the corner of the hallway.

Then, in a rustle, a hooded figure slides in their direction.

Gwaine holds his breath, his hand on his sword.

\- "_Merlin_?"

The voice is frightened, stunned, hopeful.

Arthur, who was on the verge of fainting – Gwaine's sudden move has sent a shot of excruciating pain through his injured leg - raises his head.

\- "Morgana?" he slurrs.

The hood is pushed back by two delicate hands and the triangular face of the princess appears in the ethereal light of the moon, bright tears welling up in her pearl gray eyes.

* * *

_**TBC**_

* * *

**_Based on episodes: 2x12, 3x01, 3x02, 3x12._**

**_A/N: I'm in the process of re-editing the previous chapters, so it doesn't look too messy. I'm very sorry for those of you lovely people who had to read chapter 8 in its "raw" version... I'm really trying hard to re-re-re-re-read the chapters before they get posted, but there are so many mistakes it's beyond me - and can you imagine translating takes almost a _whole_ day each time? Anyways, I'll still strive to do better, because I am VERY thankful for the wonderful reviews you give me even though it must hurt your eyes... you allow me to keep writing and writing is what keeps me alive so I can't ever tell you how grateful I am for your support ! You guys rock!_**

**_And off I go to take care of chapter 10, and here is something to keep you edgy to know what comes next: "among them all, two will get what they dreamt for but the cannon won't be changed in the end; one won't die who did but two will when they didn't."_**

**_... kittens and Percival are right at the corner... ;-)  
_**

**_... and I don't think I'm wrong when I say you _will_ squeeze Merlin with dear hugs in the coming two chapters. (I'm already weak in the knees at the coming fluffiness... although things aren't going to be better for the characters before some time...)_**


	10. Night of Doom

**NIGHT OF DOOM**

* * *

Later, Arthur will only remember snippets of the night and will always impute it to the fever raging under his brow at the time.

Because he does not want to admit their world fell apart that night, right in front of his eyes, and he could not do anything to prevent it.

_Starting with Morgana._

The story she gives them is inconsistent, it's the least to be said. Gwaine demonstrates an unprecedented patience and manages to piece together what happened while their small group hurries towards Gaius' chambers.

Apparently the King's illness worsened after they were gone, until he collapsed during a council and was bedridden from that moment onwards. Then everything happened very fast: Cenred's army launched their surprise attack at twilight, two days ago, and before Camelot's soldiers could understand _how,_ they were caught in between two fronts by mercenaries coming from nowhere.

The citadel fell the next day at dawn.

\- "A traitor ... can't be anything else... someone must have opened the secret passage in the crypt", grinds Arthur, leaning heavily on Merlin as they go up the stairs.

Morgana lets go of a small strangled cry behind him.

\- "And Father?"

Uther has disappeared since the beginning of the attack, but in the state he was in, it can only be because _someone_ is hiding him. Probably a knight because, according to the princess, the advisors were executed this morning.

\- "Cenred's furious", stammers Morgana, wringing her hands. "He seeks the king everywhere. He says he can't be proclaimed the winner of Camelot before he's seen him chained!"

The prince pauses, rubs his weary eyes, hoping to stay focused. The steps are seesawing and he has to constantly hold back the nausea coming with the waves of pain that overwhelm him. He pushes aside Merlin and Gwaine, and leans his hand against the wall to stand.

\- "How is it that _you_ are _free_?" he asks harshly. "Certainly Cenred's goal was to capture the members of the royal family ..."

Morgana's pearl gray eyes fill up with tears again and she bites her pretty lips.

\- "I ... I d-don't know", she mumbles. "I w-was ... t-they didn't found m-me ... I hid ..."

Distress contorts her porcelain face. Her dress is crinkled, long curls of black satin cascade in disorder on her shoulders and she's shuddering violently.

Arthur softens.

\- "It's all right, Morgana, I'm here ... you don't have to be afraid anymore..."

He strokes her cheek and the young woman clings to her brother's arm.

\- "You need to help me find the king", she begs in a sob. "I'm so scared of Cenred ..."

She is so beautiful, so terrified, so frail ... Gwaine, who feels strangely drunk even though he didn't have a drop of alcohol _for days_, grabs Arthur's arm and slings it over his shoulder.

\- "Come on, just one floor to go, Your Highness. The old man will scrape you up and then you can go save the world on your white horse."

\- "Arthur's horse is _brown_", Merlin corrects mulishly.

The servant sneaks ahead to check the way is clear and waves at them. When they step into the physician's chambers, Gwaine drops Arthur on a bench and turns round on his heels to reach out to Morgana who ignores him. With bulging eyes, she stares at the wooden panels covering one wall of the dark room.

\- "There's _something_", she whispers, grabbing the sleeve of Merlin who stands up in front of the prince.

Arthur is half lying on the table covered with vials of potions and the remains of a meal.

Gwaine draws his sword and approaches stealthily - except the floor is sprinkled with pieces of glass and cracks under his boots.

\- "Who's there? Show yourself!"

One of the wooden panels trembles, then is lifted up and a wrinkled face appears in the glow of the moon.

\- "_Gwaine_? What are you doing here? How ..."

His voice is slightly quavering and his white hair is a bit messy, but he is safe and sound, and Merlin's face lights up as he runs to the old man's arms.

\- "GAIUS!"

The physician hugs him tight and kisses his black hair in both relief and fear.

\- "My boy ... you're alive... but why did you come back? It's too dangerous!"

Merlin points to the prince.

\- "Arthur is injured. He has a fever."

\- "Cenred's soldiers in the Darkling Woods", supplies Gwaine, sheathing his sword. "He never stopped trotting up since then. How did you escape the slaughter, Gaius?"

The old man does not step towards the prince, even if he glances at him worriedly. He turns back to the hideout, stops Merlin who was going back to his master.

\- "Help me, my boy, will you ... here."

They dive in the alcove, and when they straighten, Morgana squeals, short of breath.

\- "Father!"

Arthur awakes at her cry and hope rekindles in his eyes, even if he does not have the strength to get up from the bench.

\- "I never thought this old hiding place from the Great Purge would one day save the king himself", the physician sighs with a hint of black humor.

Gwaine helps the young servant who staggers under the weight of Uther. The monarch is deadly pale. Thick, purplish veins streak his dry skin and his eyes are tightly closed. His body is cold, limp, and his breathing barely noticeable.

\- "He's very ill", Gaius explains as they put their cargo on the cot in the middle of the room. "I was able to hide him here with the help of Sir Leon and Guinevere, but I'm afraid these two have been taken since then..."

He fumbles in the boxes on the shelves, looking for what he needs in order to treat Arthur. Morgana lights a candle, but Gwaine extinguishes it at once: someone could see the glow through the window overlooking the courtyard.

\- "Can you heal him?" Arthur gasps, stifling his moans while the old man unwraps the bandage on his thigh and probes at the injury.

\- "Not until I know what _poisoned_ him", Gaius replies darkly, his old fingers working precisely to disinfect the wound. "We were trapped. This attack was planned for months and someone _inside_ the castle worked on weakening the king's health long before the army marched onto Camelot."

\- "Impossible", pants the prince, whose nails are digging into Merlin's arm.

The servant grits his teeth, but does not move.

\- "The wound is infected, Sire", the physician finally says.

\- "I know," growls Arthur, who's on the verge of fainting, the wings of his nose pinched by pain. "Just give me something to keep going."

Gwaine opens his mouth to protest, then closes it without a word. His fist clenched on the hilt of his sword while Gaius gives the patient a small blue vial.

Morgana comes to her brother, her silver eyes staring intensely at their father.

\- "What will you do, Arthur?" she asks.

The prince greedily swallows the water Merlin gives him before answering slowly.

The fever shakes his shoulders and sweat glues his hair on his forehead as if he'd flipped a bucket full of water over his head.

\- " We need to get the king out of Camelot", he says hoarsely. "We have allies and this is the time to call upon their friendship. If we could reach the border of Nemeth, for example, we'd be safe and King Rodor is no man to ignore the distress of his neighbor."

\- "But Cenred's men are too many!" the princess frets. "We'll never be able to leave the castle without being caught!"

\- "I think I can guide us", Gaius says slowly. "I know every single cranny in the castle."

\- "What if someone recognizes the king? Cenred will send his dogs on us."

\- "Why don't we disguise him?" Merlin offers.

Morgan looks at him as if he had just grown two heads, but Arthur, who feels already much better, dimples up.

\- "That might just work."

The lanky boy proudly straightens.

\- "We could dress him as a woman!" he suggests excitedly.

Arthur pulls a face.

\- "That, on the other hand... "

Gwaine giggles.

\- "Maybe we should all dress up as women! This is the plan of the century, Merlin."

\- "Gwaine, _shut up_", cuts in the prince who stands up and tests the strength of his injured leg.

_Fine, Gaius' draught has completely numbed the pain._

He looks gravely at his small team whose irises shine in the blue darkness of the room.

\- "Here's how we will proceed: Merlin and Morgana, you'll go first. Merlin, you know the castle like the back of your hand, I want you to get us through the most inconspicuous places you know."

He unbuckles the dagger hanging from his belt and hands it to his sister.

\- "Morgana, you're a good fencer, I count on you to take down any danger coming our way."

Gwaine's eyes widen: _Arthur counts on this fragile flower to open the way? Surely the lovely but whimpering princess is not the best choice for this…_

He has no time to protest, however, because the prince continues to distribute his instructions.

\- "Gaius, you follow them. Take with you as many things as you can stuff in your medicine box, I don't know when we'll again be able to give my father the care he requires."

\- "And your leg too", Merlin interrupts quickly, with a raised eyebrow worthy of his grandfather's.

\- "I take it you and I will carry the king?" Gwaine says. "What an honor."

\- "_You_ will", correct Arthur. "I'll watch our backs. Oh, and you will do so with the utmost respect due to a king."

Gwaine's eyebrows bounce grudgingly, but it is with care that he puts the monarch over his shoulder like a sack of golden potatoes.

\- "Wow. He's _heavy_!"

Arthur's eyes blaze and the bearded young man shuts up before getting into more trouble.

The night is warm in the dimly lit hallway. In the courtyard, the soldiers are lying, wrapped in their cloaks, and sleep as if the cobblestones were the best mattress in the world. The embers glow in the braziers scattered between the rows.

Everything is quiet.

_A little _too_ quiet, actually._

Despite the fever smog obscuring part of his brain, Arthur keeps trying to understand as they progress in the corridors. Gaius' miracle potion may well allow him to stand without pain, but it does not help to think clearly.

_Why has Cenred stopped looking for the king? Does he believe him already out of the castle walls?_

_Where are Sir Leon and Guinevere?_

_What happened to the servants, the peasants, the people who survived? Where have they gone? What has been done with the captives?_

_Why is it nobody's trying to find Morgana?_

_How did she escape the fury of the soldiers?_

_ And how come they could so easily sneak into the citadel? Why is there nobody guarding the way to the drawbridge?_

Arthur doubts they made it because of mere luck.

_And besides, if luck it was, well, they just ran out of it._

They are almost at the end of the hallway, at the top of the stairs leading down to the service quarters when the stone arches usually teeming with servants suddenly lit up. A group is coming in their direction and hearing the heavy steps that approach, they are _not_ fugitives.

Arthur sees from afar Morgana and Merlin rushing into a room. He leads Gaius in the nearest chamber and barricades the door after Gwaine followed him with his royal cargo.

The bearded young man lays the king on an unmade bed, in what appears to be a servant's room.

\- "What do we do now?" he asks in a low voice.

\- "We wait", hisses Arthur, his ear pressed against the door.

_Walking, walking, walking ... slowing down. Stopping. Muffled voices. Leaving ... no, staying._

He winces.

\- "Your Majesty?" says quietly Gaius, leaning over Uther.

The prince immediately abandons his monitoring of the door and rushes to the bed.

\- "Father?"

\- "Arth'r ..." the King slurrs. "We … were…betrayed ..."

The prince kneels at his side, deliberately ignoring the pinching pain in his leg.

\- "I know. Morgana told me ... we'll get out, gather an army and ..."

Uther's hand weakly calls for silence. His eyes are glassy.

\- "Morgause ..."

Arthur frowns and his jaw hardens.

\- "What do you mean?"

The king coughs and chokes. Gaius wipes his mouth with a cloth, while the young man grabs the hands of his father and squeezes them.

\- "Father. What do you mean? Why are you talking about Morgause? What does she have to do with Cenred? I don't understand!"

He raised his voice to a shrill, despite himself. Gwaine frantically waves him to be quiet from the door against which he's leaning to hear what is going on in the hallway.

The king's face contorts with grief.

\- "I didn't want… to believe ... but she's the one who ..." he murmurs before sinking back into unconsciousness.

Arthur looks up to Gaius, distraught.

\- "What does it mean? You know something, don't you? _Speak_!" he orders.

The old man shakes his head.

\- "Alas, Sire, I don't know ... this is the first time the king regains consciousness since Sir Leon and Guinevere brought him to me. The citadel was about to fall and I was in the infirmary at the time ..."

\- "Now _where_ are these two?" scolds the prince, getting a second glare from Gwaine whose lips silently articulate "shut-up-your-high-ness."

Gaius takes the king's pulse, then puts the limp hand back on the bed with a sigh.

\- "I don't know", he repeats wearily. "I really - _really_ \- hope they have not been captured. Sir Leon knew something about the traitor, I'm sure. He's not one to leave the battle… if he was running up and about in the castle in secret while the war raged on, it must be that he had a purpose."

Arthur gets up painfully and sits on the edge of the bed. He chews his leather glove, desperately thinking.

\- "We need to find them."

His eyes roam the room quickly. He gets up, goes to the window the time to have a look on the outside, then comes back to the bed.

\- "Gaius, you'll stay here with my father. Don't open to anyone. Gwaine and I will down to the armory. There's a secret passage behind the larger shield, leading to the lower town. We used to play there when Leon and I were kids. If he found refuge somewhere, it will be there. And he might have been able to gather a few men who can help us."

Gwaine approaches stealthily.

\- "What about Merlin?"

Arthur swallows.

\- "He's with Morgana, they'll protect each other. They're in a room down the hallway and I don't think the soldiers have seen them. As long as they keep quiet, they will be safe. We'll pick them up after we've check the armory."

Gaius arches one of his bushy eyebrows.

\- "And how will you get to the armory? Cenred's soldiers are at the door, so to speak."

Arthur hobbles to the window.

\- "That way. We're only on the first floor, and there's a pile of hay just below in the small courtyard."

\- "And to come back?"

\- "We'll give you a sign from the stables. Cut the blanket up. Make some rope. We'll lower the king down and help you get out."

Gwaine chuckles quietly.

\- "That's the kind of plans I like."

Gaius grimaces, however.

\- "Sire, this potion I gave you ... The effect is instant, but I cannot guarantee how long it'll last. As for imposing such exertions on your injured leg, I do not dare to imagine what would be the consequences ..."

\- "We are at war, Gaius", Arthur replies simply.

The moon hides behind the clouds and the night freshens.

There are only a few hours before dawn.

* * *

oOoOoOo

* * *

They slam the door behind them and lean against it, panting, their fingers intertwined in their fright.

Their hearts beat wildly. Morgana's heady perfume mingles with Merlin's scent of sweat and they feel faint in the stifling darkness of the room.

\- "They haven't seen us ..." finally whispers the young woman, removing her delicate hand from the calloused palm of the servant.

\- "And Arthur?" worries immediately the boy, ready to go back to the hallway.

\- "They had to hide away", ensures Morgane whose voice strengthened a bit. "Listen, there's no sound. If the soldiers had found them, we'd hear swords."

Merlin nods and looks around.

They are in the room reserved to the Steward of the castle. There is a bed behind the thick curtain, books on the shelves, chests containing the fine silver, embroidered towels and a huge stacks register on the desk, beside an inkwell and an elegant quill.

The servant goes to the window, scans the courtyard bathed in spectral clarity, and suddenly startles.

\- "Oh!"

Morgan runs at once in a rustling of her emerald velvet dress.

\- "What is it?"

Merlin points to the woman who is strolling through the courtyard, surrounded by half a dozen guards in black and red uniforms awakening the sleepers with kicks.

\- "It's the blonde lady", he whispers. "She's mean."

Morgana stamps her little boot impatiently.

\- "She's not _mean_, Merlin. Why do you say that?"

The servant turns to her, incredulous.

\- "Have you seen her eyes, my lady? They're cold like those of a snake! And she's talking to Cenred's soldiers! They are our _enemies_."

Morgana's face musses and for a moment, anger and fear compete on her perfect features.

\- "_Cenred_ is cruel", she finally says. "But Morgause would never hurt anyone. She didn't want all these deaths, I'm sure. It's Gaius's fault! If he had not hidden the king, everything would have been over much earlier!"

Merlin takes a step back and his blue eyes behold the young woman with confusion.

\- "Gaius _saved_ the king", he whispers. "Your father."

A flash of anger flashes in the pearl gray eyes.

\- "Don't use that word! I do not consider him as my father anymore! He lied to me and he drove my mother to her death!"

Her lips purse and she seems to realize whom she's talking to. She shivers, her pale cheeks relent and she reaches for the boy.

\- "I'm sorry, Merlin", she coaxes. "I shouldn't have yelled. I'm tired and the night is endless."

The gawky boy tilts his head to one side and wrinkles his nose.

\- "Morgause is good and the king is no longer your father?" he repeats slowly. "It's ... weird."

\- "It's not weird", immediately protests Morgana with a wheedling smile. "No way! Look, Merlin. Stay here, will you? I'll go see if I can find Arthur."

Her velvet sleeve brushes the servant's neck when she strokes his cheek.

\- "Stay put. You're safe, here."

Merlin shakes his head fiercely.

\- "You can't go out! The soldiers will catch you!"

\- "Morgause won't let them hurt me", promises Morgana. "Listen to me carefully. Everything will be fine. I'll get Arthur and Gaius. Soon we will be happy, you'll see. You won't have to worry about the king firing you, I'll ask Morgause so Arthur can keep you, okay? We won't be alone and never ever again have to fear the character of this horrible man."

Merlin pushes away the fingers playing with his black hair and steps back.

\- "The king wants to fire me?" he breathes.

Morgan gives him a smile of pity.

\- "Oh, poor Merlin ... you didn't know? Arthur must have forgotten to tell you ... but it doesn't matter, now. Morgause will save us all."

She shivers in spite of herself, because she keeps saying this phrase as a talisman since the day before, but somehow she believes in it less and less.

She needs to return to her half-sister, to hear the sweet silky voice which ensured Cenred would never hurt them, that people would soon forget the nightmare and Camelot would be prosperous and that they will never be separated.

Morgause is right.

_For Uther to realize he should never have let Ygraine die, he must suffer._

_But Arthur will understand, won't he?_

Morgana is terrified since she saw how Cenred spoke to his troops in the throne room, while she remained hidden behind the curtain to play her role.

_Everything seemed so normal, so logical, so far._

The distilled poison in the cup she offered every evening to Uther, the king paying for the suffering he inflicted to so many people with his screaming in terror during his nightmares, unlocking the crypt to let in the soldiers in order "to avoid a bloodbath" as said Morgause, the lies spouted to Arthur to get his help in finding their father because Sir Leon, this fool, has spirited the king away during the battle ...

_Morgause is right._

_Morgause is right and she will not let Cenred hurt Arthur or Guinevere._

She puts her fingers on the door that protects them from the brutes and takes in a deep breath.

_So why is Guinevere no where to be found? Before the siege, Morgana told her, though, she had nothing to fear ..._

_Has Cenred killed her?_

_Has Guinevere betrayed her?_

Morgause told her to be wary of all, that people would not right away understand the kingdom will be in much better hands, that they will stupidly try to protect their king because they don't know how dark is Uther's heart ...

Merlin's hand touches hers and she jumps, lifts her tearful eyes to him.

He shakes his head and she is almost stunned by the depth of the cobalt orbs. As if Merlin knew, as if he sensed her dilemma, her doubts, as if he was already crying on the decision she will take.

\- "Don't trust the blonde lady", he whispers. "She's bad."

Morgana stares furiously through the glistening drops clinging to her long lashes.

\- "She's my sister", she hisses. "She understands me. And her mother died like mine because of our father. Morgause knows how I feel and she's _the only one_!"

_Oh, these unfathomable eyes gazing at her, so sincere, so pure ... telling her she's wrong._

\- "And Arthur?" simply asks Merlin. "He loves you, too."

Morgana's throat tightens.

She is so afraid that Arthur would not understand.

Morgause said the prince would have _no choice_ but to see and accept ... that she would _make him_ understand ...

She sniffs and wipes her face with the back of her hand, angrily. Then she picks up the fold of her dress and haughtily dismisses the boy.

\- "You're only an _idiot_ and a _serving boy_, Merlin", she says, raising her chin, her lips pursed. "That's why you don't know better. Let me out now."

She turns the latch and opens the door, but he grabs her wrist and holds her back.

\- "Let me go", utters the princess sharply.

\- "No", says Merlin.

His eyes are filling up with tears and she does not know if it's because of the words she has just said or because he can not make her change her mind.

Morgana sighs.

_I'm sorry, Merlin. You leave me no choice._

She raises her hand and swiftly strikes the neck of the lanky boy.

He collapses silently and she goes out without looking back.

Morgause is just down the stairs, asking about this commotion she saw from the throne room on the other side of the courtyard. She is quite pleased to learn Arthur and the King are in the building, trapped in one of the rooms.

\- "You did well Morgana", she says with an affectionate smile.

Morgane smiles back after looking at the soldiers around her with a frightened glance.

\- "Nothing will happen to Arthur, isn't it?" she asks in a small voice. "You promised Uther would be the only one to die."

She shivers unconsciously, because a part of herself, buried deep, is repulsive to the idea of parricide. She was fine poisoning the king because she knew she would only kill his mind, but she is not yet ready to see the stiff, cold body of her father lying on the cobblestones of the court as the hundreds of dead soldiers evacuated from the castle today.

Morgause smiles again.

\- "Arthur will have the right to go where he wants", she says sweetly.

Morgana nods.

\- "There's a small problem", she adds timidly. "Arthur's manservant, Merlin. He doesn't like you, sister. If he talks to Arthur, he will convince him you're someone not to trust..."

Morgause slides her fingers in her long golden hair.

\- "And where is that servant now?" she asks with an almost distracted tone.

\- "In the Steward's chambers", replies the princess. "I knocked him off, just like you taught me. What will you do with him? Arthur's strangely fond of him. If something happened to him ... my brother would be very upset."

Morgause caresses the dark curls of the young woman.

\- "Well, then we need to ensure this young man changes his mind", she says softly.

The two women go up the stairs side by side, one dressed in her mail coat on which trickles down her blonde hair, the other lithe in her emerald velvet dress.

When they enter the room, Morgause frowns.

\- "Where is he?" she asks, a little annoyed.

Morgana looks everywhere, surprised.

\- "I must not have hit him hard enough", she whimpers. "Oh, I hope I didn't go to A' ..."

The words choke in her throat as Merlin bangs a huge book bound in steel fasteners on the head of her sister who collapses without a sound.

\- "What did you do?" Morgana cries in horror, throwing her dagger aside to kneel near the unconscious blonde woman.

\- "She's bad and you should stop believing her", the boy babbles hurriedly. "Lady Morgana, she'll hurt you! She's here only to cause Camelot's loss. Come with me, please. We have to run away very far with Arthur and the king and to save the people from Cenred and ... "

Morgan looks up and her silver irises sparkle with fury.

\- "You should _not_ have done that!"

\- "I'm _sorry_", Merlin gabbles, crouching beside her. "I'm really sorry, I don't wish you to be sad, but ... _please_ ..."

He reaches for the delicate wrist of the young woman, clearly wanting to lead her out of the room, but she pushes him away, her face contorted with hatred.

\- "Leave me alone", she lashes at him through grinded teeth.

\- "Lady Morgana ..."

\- "LEAVE ME!"

He loses his balance and falls on his buttock, his wounded and sad blue eyes still staring at her, and Morgana seethes with rage at this obstinacy.

She casts a glance around, looking for something to throw at him to make him leave, finds nothing. Her dagger is too far away, near the door.

\- "_Get out_", she hisses.

Merlin hesitates and in that short second, Morgause opens her eyelids.

\- "What happened?" she mutters, bringing her hand to her head.

Morgana helps her to get up, supports her to the desk and helps her sit in the chair. The servant has backed to the door, but he did not get out, mesmerized by the blonde woman.

\- "Merlin hit you with a book", says Morgana irritably.

\- "Oh. Has he, now?" Morgause chuckles with a slight grimace when she touches the tender spot at the back of her head. "And this big pole that looks at me with eel eyes, is also Merlin?"

\- "Yes", says the young brunette. "He doesn't have much brains and unfortunately it seems not possible to change his mind when he's got it set on something!"

She quickly picks up the inkwell and throws it at the lanky boy.

\- "Go away, Merlin!" she screams.

He does not have time to step away and the box opens when it hits him: ink splatters on the red tunic of the manservant, splashing his neck and sleeves and soaking the rough fabric with a viscous black shadow.

\- "Don't get upset, Morgana", Morgause protests cocking her head in amusement. "Merlin? Come here. Come on, don't be afraid."

The gangly boy clenches his fists and does not move an inch.

\- "I'm not afraid", he retorts, lifting his jaw defiantly.

His left eyebrow shudders, though, and the tip of his ears turns pink in the dark. Morgana lights a candle and places it on the desk next to her sister.

The dim light casts a ghoulish shadow on Morgause's aristocratic face.

\- "Come on, Merlin ..." she repeats softly.

_Kindly._

_Innocently._

The servant makes just one step forward.

\- "You need to leave", he says in a slightly hoarse voice. "You and Cenred too. And all the soldiers."

Morgause giggles.

\- "Oh. And why?"

Merlin's cheeks look hollow in the candlelight. He makes one more step. His sweaty fingers are fiddling with his wet tunic and the smell of ink makes him feel a little giddy.

\- "This is the Arthur's kingdom, here. Camelot is his home. You don't have the right to take it. You killed children and lots of people. You must leave. _Please_."

Morgause blinks, her icy smile curling up her scarlet lips, showing her white teeth.

\- "I understand", she says in an unctuous tone. "Morgana, you understand too, don't you?"

The brunette shakes her head.

\- "No", she grumbles.

Morgause chuckles, a sound so crystalline and so cold the night suddenly seems to lose all heat.

She gets up in a rattling of steel and pushes back her long golden hair. Her hand casually resting on the hilt of her sword, she slowly comes close to Merlin.

\- "I don't know if you're very brave or incredibly stupid, young man", she whispers. "But you're wrong if you think you can stop me from achieving my plans."

For a moment, Merlin does not breathe, convinced she will kill him on the spot. But then she smiles.

\- "Let's go, Morgana", she says quietly, leaving the room.

The princess follows her after casting a look of defiance to the servant who remained rooted to the spot.

Merlin feels his chest, head, legs, a little stunned to be alive, then he turns around, remembering the need to warn Arthur about Morgana being under the spell of the dangerous blonde lady.

_Arthur must be ..._

\- "... In one of these rooms. Find him and you will also find the king. If he resists, you can use your swords."

\- "Morgause, no!" exclaims Morgane in the hallway.

\- "Enough, my dear sister", replies the blonde lady in a voice that could almost pass for caring if it was not accompanied by a flare of anger in the pale eyes of the woman. "I thought it was clear. If that idiot of a manservant is this stubborn, Arthur will be too, of course. It is time to stop believing the prince will understand our intentions."

\- "But you said ..."

\- "I said we would leave him a choice, and we will, Morgana. All he has to do is surrender without a fight, for now."

Merlin looks at the door, in daze. His eyes fall on the dagger that the moon hems with a glint of blue.

_Arthur._

_Arthur is in danger._

He bends down, picks up the dagger and takes it out of the sheath.

_To protect Arthur, he would do anything._

His slender fingers wrap around the hilt with resolution and he slips into the hallway.

Morgause is busy giving orders to the soldiers, Morgana is a few steps away from her, her eyebrows arched as she intensely ponders if her sister was right or not.

Merlin sneaks up behind her with the dagger.

_He is going to grab her, to make Morgause believe he'll kill her if Cenred's army does not leave the castle immediately and everyone will be saved. The king will be so happy that he won't fire him and Morgana will not even be hurt. And no doubt, as soon as she is no longer under the negative influence of the blonde lady, she will be back to the nice princess everyone loves._

Morgause feels the threat even before seeing the movement in the corner of her eye.

A smile twists up the corner of her mouth.

_Perfect, just what she needed to finish convince Morgana. She was right to let this idiot alive ... she thought she'd use him to put pressure on Arthur, but ultimately, with this stroke of luck, the plan will certainly jump to the part where there is no more prince between her and the throne._

Her eyes widen with ingenuous horror and she yells:

\- "Morgana! Watch out!"

The young princess jumps, turns and her horrified look meets Merlin's raised arm.

The moon glides over the knife blade with a grisly gleam.

_Oh__, Merlin. WHY?_

The cobalt orbs avoid, guilty, the gray pearls.

The next second, the flail of one of the soldiers hits Merlin's chest at full force and sends him crashing in the stairs that go to the kitchen. The lean body of the manservant tumbles down the steps like a puppet and collapses on the tiles, motionless.

There are only a few hours before dawn.

* * *

**_TBC_**


	11. Still standing at the end of times

**STILL STANDING AT THE END OF TIMES**

* * *

They flee.

Dawn hems the crest of the blue mountains with a thin line of light and the fleecy sky is draped in pink silk like a watercolor paint. Long gold filaments string over the valley filled with a greyish mist. In the distance jingle the bells of a herd of cows. A fox barks in the darkness of the forest. Another answer his call. Two birds fly across the vast brightness, chirping happily. Dew beads pearl in shining drops on the fragranced green grass. Everything is peaceful.

They flee.

A few haggard people with torn clothes and soiled armors, stumbling with fatigue and grief in the dark woods. They hurry silently between the trunks in a rustle of leaves and the clatter of their mail coats. Their legs are heavy, their shoulders slumped, their faces tensed. No one is after them – _not yet_ – but they do not stop, they can not, they _should not._ The blackened towers of Camelot fade behind them, through the trees.

They flee.

Gwaine and Sir Leon are helping Arthur, one on each side, his arms around their necks, their hands gripping his belt. He moves forward, dragging his injured leg in the black soil of the undergrowth, his chin on his chest, barely conscious. He no longer feels the pain. His ears are buzzing, as if the last hours of the night replayed behind his half-lowered eyelids.

* * *

Things were taking a favorable turn for them, at first. The two men had no problem getting to the abandoned armory. Behind the biggest shield, when Arthur tapped the old code of his childhood on the small wooden door, Sir Leon's curly blond head appeared, followed by the young woman with hazel eyes whose face lit up when she saw them. The prince quickly explained his plan to get the king out of the castle, but when he mentioned Morgana, the knight's eyes narrowed and Guinevere bit her lips.

\- "Oh, sire, I _should've_ seen it coming", the girl sniveled, twisting her apron. "I still can't believe it but it was _her_ who poisoned the king and when she told me before the attack I would be safe and sound if I stayed close to her, I'... it was too late ... I'm _so sorry_ ... "

\- "The princess is not our ally", Sir Leon says dourly. "She betrayed us all. Hundreds of lives were lost because she opened the crypt to let in the soldiers of Cenred."

Arthur did not believe it, of course. He attributed it to the fact they were confined in the poorly ventilated secret passage and / or to possible head injuries that he could not see. But before they could insist Gwaine came back from his lookout post at the door of the armory, saying there was something in the courtyard that the prince _had_ to see.

They snuck through the service quarters and hid in the cloister opening onto the main courtyard, in front of the great white stairs.

The round and full moon haloed the cobblestones in ghostly blue.

_And maybe all of this was only an illusion ..._

Arthur felt his heart sinking.

Morgause and Morgana, standing among fifty soldiers of Cenred who _were not making any move to attack them_, were discussing _his_ fate. The silver eyes of his fragile little sister were blazing and she was trembling with rage despite the hands of her half-sister on her shoulders.

Then the feeling of falling, falling without any hope of being caught, intensified.

Cenred was coming to the two women, going down the grand stairs in a careless jog, his small black eyes gloating. He kissed the hand of Morgause who let him do so with a barely concealed condescension.

Then two mercenaries brought Uther Pendragon whose legs were dragging and head hung limply between them. They threw him to the ground, emptied a bucket of water on his face, and when he moved slightly, they brutally straightened him and forced him to face Cenred.

But the king was looking at Morgana, at Morgana only, without a word.

Morgause smiled, her white teeth gleaming in the pale light of the moon.

\- "Father", she said in her smooth voice. "Here you are at last. I thought I would never have the pleasure to introduce you to my husband, King Cenred."

The man dressed in a black armor guffawed smugly, his hands on his hips, and his soldiers joined him.

Arthur, petrified with horror, stared at Morgana who did not say a word, her delicate lips curled in a cruel pout.

Uther was crying.

After that, the prince does not really recall what happened. He remembers confusedly Sir Leon leading him back to the armory, Gwaine telling the knight he would go find out what had happened to Merlin and Gaius.

He can recollect waiting in the secret passage where the air is rare, loaded with coal dust and the smell of silt. Guinevere is there with him. From time to time, she presses his hand and she repeats that everything will be fine in a small choked voice.

Then whispers and fleeting lights, Sir Leon helping the court physician to go through the narrow opening.

\- "Morgause did not spare me a look. She must have thought the soldier had put me down for good. But more is needed to defeat a tough old fellow like me", mutters Gaius, re-arranging his rumpled robes with a dignified and mechanical gesture, before leaning over the prince and checking his wound.

\- "How is he?" asks the knight anxiously. "He hasn't said a word since ... and his eyes are empty."

The question he does not say aloud is: "Was he broken by what we saw?"

The old man shakes his head. There is clotted blood on his wrinkled forehead, where the soldier hit him with the flat of his sword.

\- "The draught I gave him has worn off", he reassures.

Guinevere heaves a sigh of relief, then her face contracts again, troubled.

\- "Where's Merlin?"

\- "Gwaine's still looking for him" answers Sir Leon, preoccupied. "We should go. The longer we stay, the more likely we are to be discovered. Dawn is nearing. We should take advantage of the darkness ..."

Arthur tries to raise his hands in the fog filling his head. His arm is too weak, as if his brains were no longer connected to his muscles.

\- "M'rlin ... not ... no ... w'thout ... 'lin ..."

He hurts, he feels sick, he trembles. The pale face of his father, with the tear running down his nose, haunts him. And when he pushes the picture to the bottom of his mind, it is the pain in his thigh that takes over, scouring in his flesh like a white-hot blade.

He wants to shout: "_ Mer_lin! Where were you? Get your bony bottom over here at this moment!" as he does when his manservant arrives with breakfast an hour late on a hunting day, but all that comes out of his mouth is a pitiful gurgling.

_Merlin._

_Please may nothing have happened to Merlin._

He will not leave him behind.

_Camelot was taken from him, he had to leave his father into the clutches of Cenred and Morgause, he witnessed Morgana lose her soul ..._

_But they will not go without Merlin._

The code taps against the wooden door and Sir Leon draws his sword while Guinevere turns the key in the old lock.

\- "I found him!" Gwaine exclaims quietly as soon as they open. "He's a bit drowsy, but otherwise fine."

He helps the boy climb in and Sir Leon catches the servant on the other side.

\- "My boy!" cries Gaius, rushing towards him and checking him for injuries as much as he can in the light of the torch that holds Guinevere. "You okay? You're not hurt? But ... what ... you're covered with ink!"

Merlin sways a little, then grins to his grandfather. Besides his wet and viscous tunic and some scratches on his face, he seems unscathed.

\- "Apparently this _woman_ ... uh, Morgause, right? She thrown him down the stairs", tells Gwaine with a retrospective angry growl. Then his expression softens and he smiles, ruffling the dark hair of the boy. "But our Merlin is so used to tumbling down the steps with the armor of his Highness that it didn't affect him much!"

Gaius frowns. He would like to have a better look at his grand-son, to understand why he holds his body in a strange way, with one shoulder higher than the other. It is dark in the secret passage and all that ink does not help.

\- "Let's go", presses Sir Leon. "We will rest and look after our wounds when we are far enough from Camelot."

\- "Where will we go?" asks Guinevere, still holding the torch while Gwaine hoists the prince on his feet.

\- "To Nemeth", briefly replies the knight.

* * *

Dawn is nearing when they push the rusty gate that closes the entrance to the underground secret passage, under the vault made of stones covered with moss. Guinevere is the only one to give a long look to the castle through the trees, before lifting her skirts and following the men who are diving into the forest.

They move fast enough in the beginning, even if Gwaine and Sir Leon have to half carry Arthur who lets out groans of pain and curses every time his injured leg brushes against a root. He has bitten his lips to blood and his fever keeps rising.

Gaius can barely keep up with the pace, visibly exhausted, his mouth open and frowning, pushing his paunchy old body beyond its limits. He no longer goes to pick up his herbs himself and even walking up to the royal chambers leaves him of breath.

Guinevere offered him her shoulder, but as she stumbles all the time on her dress, he fears she'll make him fall and refused.

Merlin is the last of the column, staggering, eyes half-closed. He has not yet stepped in a rabbit hole, it's a miracle. His right hand is clutching his chest, his ink-stained fingers digging into the folds of his tunic.

When Sir Leon decides it is time to take a break, in a clearing by a small creek, the sun is high in the sky. It must be noon and Gwaine's stomach growls. He helps the knight to lower Arthur at the foot of a tree, then he goes in search of food.

Guinevere knelt by the stream. She drank long, now washes her face and arms. The fresh water is a relief after that horrible night and a little smile creeps on her lips as she twists her long curly hair into a bun and sticks a twig in it.

\- "Don't drink too much, however", warns Sir Leon, filling up their only water skin. "You'd be sick."

He gets up and goes back to Arthur, helps him swallow a few sips. Gaius heavily knelt beside the prince and is now checking the wound.

As feared, the infection progressed.

\- "If we do not quickly find a place where he can rest properly and receive the necessary care, he risks losing his leg", whispers the old man.

_Or he could die even before that._

Sir Leon runs his glove in his blond curls, overwhelmed. His brassy beard has grown on his cheeks and hides his freckles. His armor is dented, stained with traces of mud and smoke, his long red cloak torn up.

Apart Gaius, he is the eldest of their troop. The most experienced, too. It is his duty to lead them to safety, until the prince is able to take command again.

The knight rubs his tired eyes and holds back the urge to lie down on the carpet of leaves and moss. He must stand firm and protect them five.

_Well, Gwaine can probably fend for himself, actually._

Sir Leon forces himself to stand up and pulls the makeshift map from his belt to study it before they get moving again.

\- "Where's Merlin?" asks the physician when he is done cleaning Arthur's wound and has bandaged it with a piece of Guinevere's petticoat. The young woman dabs the prince's forehead with her handkerchief soaked in the stream.

The knight looks up from the coal squiggles he's making on his piece of parchment to determine the safest route away from main roads. He casts a glance around him, surprised.

\- "Isn't he with Gwaine?"

Obviously not, since the bearded young man is coming back, whistling, a harvest of berries cradled in his tunic.

Gaius folds his eyebrow with annoyance.

\- "Merlin!" he calls. "Merlin, where are you, my boy?"

Guinevere smiles and yawns.

\- "He's probably asleep somewhere around. He was so tired he could barely stand."

Gwaine stalls next to Arthur who's dozing against the tree trunk.

\- "What's the matter?" he asks. "I found these, Gaius, do you think they are edible? Last time I ate gooseberries without checking, I had terrible diarrhea. It was _awful_. I don't want to go through that again, much less give Percival's opportunity to laugh at my expense."

\- "To heck with your diarrhea", grunts Gaius. "Merlin is nowhere to be found."

Guinevere puts her hand on his arm.

\- "Stay with Arthur. I'll go find him", she says gently.

But she does not need to because at the same time a mop of black hair suddenly jerks up from behind a tree stump, a few yards away, in the slope. A cloud of dead leaves scatter all over and blue eyes frantically flash in all directions:

\- "_Arthur?_!"

\- "Here he is", the young woman giggles fondly.

Sir Leon smiles and goes back to his map. Gwaine relaxes and picks a berry in his loot, that he carefully studies before gobbling it down. The prince did not even flinch during the commotion.

Gaius crosses his arms, sitting more comfortably, and his eyebrows meet in the crease of his forehead.

\- "Come here, my boy", he scolds. "What were you doing, really?"

Merlin pushes himself up with the help of the stump. He looks lost and his dark eyelashes flutter as if he had trouble keeping his eyes open.

\- "I ... I was... uh ... I ..."

\- "You were snoozing, innit?" chuckles Gwaine who is now eating his fourth berry without any negative effects on his insides. "There's no shame. I'd have taken a nap too, if I'd not been famished..."

Guinevere accepts a handful of blackberries and goes to wash it in the creek. Merlin comes to them, slightly wobbling, and slumps against the tree, next to Arthur whom he eyes anxiously.

\- "Is he all right?"

Gaius ignores the question.

He does not like the clammy pallor of his grandson, his dark circles, the violet halo digging the contours of his nose and the hollow shadows in his cheeks, the tinted blue color of his lips nor this strange hissing sound underlining his speech.

\- "You look terrible. Let me have a proper look at you."

\- "I'm fine", protests Merlin, pecking a berry from Gwaine's tunic. "Arthur's the one who needs care."

\- "Yes, yes, of course", grumbles the old man, trying to clean the slender neck of the boy with the edge of his sleeve. "Don't eat this. How did you get yourself so filthy? You look like a pit worker."

The ink does not wear off easily, but Gaius keeps trying, until his fingers accidentally brush the servant's shirt.

\- "How comes you're not yet dried in this heat?"

He frowns, grabs his grandson's hands and blanches.

\- "Your hands are freezing!" he gasps, alarmed.

He turns to Gwaine so fast and with such an angry face that the man gulps a blueberry in shock and nearly chokes.

\- "Are you _sure_ he wasn't hurt?"

\- "W-what's that? Uh, yes ..." fidgets the bearded young man. "I mean... He _looked_ fine, said he _felt_ fine ... I didn't really have time to check with Cenred's soldiers ready to score on us any time."

Guinevere is approaching.

\- "Now, now, he's fine, Gaius", she soothes. "Aren't you, Merlin? He never stopped walking since this morning! If he had been hurt falling down the stairs, we'd have seen it."

Merlin nods strongly and, for a second, he winces involuntarily.

The old man groans something inaudible and seeks his glasses in the deep pocket of his robes.

\- "Now, human brains are very peculiar", he says in a scholarly tone. "For example, the fact that Arthur could walk _leagues_ with an injury like his can only be explained because he had _no other idea_ than get to Camelot as fast as he could, at that time. His mind was focused on that only and his body forgot he was not even _supposed_ to move."

He finds his glasses, looks through them in the light and tuts, then dries them thoroughly on a fold of his sleeve.

\- "Merlin's just the same, except on more a regular basis. His drive is Arthur's well-being, he could go to work _dead_ and not even notice it. Add to that his condition often prevents him from making a distinction between reality and what he's told or puts his mind to ..."

He snorts, cups the angular chin of his grandson and forces him to look at him in the eyes.

\- "Now, my boy, tell me. Did you _fell_ _asleep_ behind this tree stump, or did you _pass out_?"

Merlin's irises go rounder and elude. He blinks once again and rubs his eyes with his fist, coming closer to Arthur, as if the contact of the prince's shoulder made him feel better.

\- "I don't know... I'm fine ..."

Gwaine and Guinevere stopped eating their berries and are watching him so seriously he's feeling queasy.

\- "Did you feel like "oh I'm so tired and everyone is taking good care of the prince so I can close my eyes for a moment and lay on the nice comfy leaves" or is it rather you had some nausea and found yourself kissing the ground without knowing how?" Gaius rephrases patiently.

\- "I don't know ..." repeats Merlin and the hissing sound intensifies when his breathing accelerates. "I ... the trees were doing a jig and after there was too much light. Then it all went black. And then I woke up."

\- "So you fainted", translates Gwaine flatly.

\- "Like _a girl_", whispers Arthur, cracking an eye open and grinning weakly at his manservant.

Merlin's gaze lights up and he moves like he's about to hug his master before changing his mind.

\- "Arthur!"

The prince breathes through his mouth and leans his neck against the tree trunk. He answers with a sober blink to Sir Leon's and Gwaine's questions, manages a heroic smile for Guinevere, then his eyes come back to the lad with big ears.

\- "... I'm not quite feeling peachy, but I'm far from dying, _Mer_lin", he says wryly. "Now, let the good doctor examine you, will you. Proper servants are hard to find, y'know. I'd like to keep you roadworthy."

Merlin nods and turns willingly to his grandfather, not without suppressing another hiss, this one more obvious. His fingers unconsciously clutch on his chest.

\- "Where does it hurt exactly?" asks the old man. "Take off this disgusting shirt, I'd like to see more clearly. Guinevere, can you bring me some water, please?"

\- "With Merlin's chance, the ink went through and stained the skin", chuckles Gwaine, much more relaxed since Arthur woke up.

Gaius shots him a killer look while helping the boy to remove his shirt, seeing that the occasional wince becomes a stifled moan when he tries to raise his arms to pass his collar over his head.

Then they all become so quiet that Leon gets his nose out of the map and glances at them.

\- "What's hap..." he begins, approaching, before he freezes and frowns hard.

\- "Sorry", wheezes Merlin tentatively.

Gaius recovers first.

\- "Gwaine, come here. He won't be able to lie down, so you hold him up. Guinevere, I need you to refill the water skin as many times as needed. Merlin, listen to me. I want you to focus on Arthur. I am almost certain his Highness does not know how to thoroughly clean an armor. Explain it to him, will you?"

The boy nods, a little worried, raises his armpits with a frown when Gwaine sits behind him.

\- "You aren't going to tickle me, eh?"

\- "I won't', promises Gwaine very seriously.

Arthur's eyes are wide open and furious.

\- "I know _perfectly_ how to clean an armor, I was a squire once, like everyone else", he growls. "But let's see if you know so well how do that, _Mer_lin. Don't you dare making a mistake, or I'll send you to the stocks for a week when we go back to Camelot."

The manservant pouts and began his presentation, protesting when his master interrupts. Guinevere brings the swollen and dripping water skin and kneels beside Gaius who gives her instructions in a low voice.

\- "This wound was made by a flail. Merlin must have at least one or two broken ribs. I fear he's ... well, let's just hope that's all. For now, we need to clean all that ink and to get rid of every single piece of fabric that was driven into the flesh. I don't know by what miracle he's still standing ..."

His eyelids close for a moment then he heaves a sigh.

\- "Well, I do, actually."

Gwaine casts a glance at the prince who is so focused on what Merlin's saying he does not realize his knuckles turn white every time the servant lets out an involuntary squeak and backs off instinctively from the water and the cloths cleaning the star-shaped wound on his chest.

When Gaius thinks they've removed all the dirt and bits of fabric, he carefully patches it with another band of Guinevere's dress, complaining because his medical box stayed in the service quarters. The piece of cloth immediately soaks in blood and the wound could really use a yarrow compress.

Merlin breaks in the middle of his animated description of the process of cleaning a gauntlet to tell his grandfather that he will pick up herbs for him as soon as he gets back his shirt, and Arthur makes a threatening gesture, as if he is going to punch his manservant.

\- "You aren't going anywhere, clotpole."

\- "That's _my_ word", Merlin protests indignantly.

Gaius takes advantage of the distraction to carefully probe his grandson's chest, and to listen to it.

_No bubbly noise under the clammy skin and, yes, indeed, at least one broken rib. But thanks the gods, nothing more serious._

He straightens up and lets out a deep sigh.

\- "Is he all right?" asks Sir Leon, direct and methodical as always, putting a gentle hand on his shoulder.

Gwaine, Guinevere and Arthur anxiously await the answer while Merlin grumbles as he flips over his tunic. He does not want to put it on because it requires contortion and that hurts him, but he feels a little cold, despite the summer heat rising gradually as the day progresses.

\- "There is no damage _inside_ the body so he will recover eventually" says slowly the old man. "He lost a great deal of blood, that's what worries me."

\- "Can he walk? We _need_ to keep going", insists the knight whose eyes apologize.

\- "He's too weak. For now, he thinks he can, but he will soon be lightheaded and..."

\- "I can walk fine", interrupts Merlin. "I'll help Arthur."

\- "Yeah, sure," rattles the prince. "No way. You're too thin, and your bony shoulders are not at all comfortable. Let's go."

Gwaine gently pushes the boy to his feet once they have helped him don his tunic and monitors him when a brief wave of dizziness makes Merlin sway on his long legs. Then he leaves him to the custody of Guinevere and comes to help the knight hoist Arthur up.

Gaius accepts the hand of the young woman and gets up painfully. His stomach gurgles and he moistens his lips.

_Arthur needs real care, a good bed and peace to forget for a few hours the terrible events that have just happened._

_Merlin needs to drink a lot and eat to regain the strength the blood loss stole away while they were all too busy to notice he was hurt._

Gaius feels like he's the worse doctor of the five kingdoms.

_The oldest._

_And the most hopeless._

He follows Sir Leon's lead and adds to his list of worries Guinevere's torn dress, which does not have enough thickness anymore and shows through a tear a round knee.

_Oh, and he's travelling in the company of a very pretty young lady who is not yet married._

_Everything is so _perfect_._

_Provided they do not meet bandits, they might just be fine._

And this thought has barely crossed his mind when it becomes a noise in the bushes on the left.

Sir Leon also heard it. He stops, draws his sword out, frowning ...

\- "Who's there?" he shouts.

Gwaine is ready to drop Arthur to the ground like a mere sack of potatoes and to protect him at the peril of his life.

A very tall figure bends under a branch and a mail coat flickers in the sunlight slipping through the thick foliage above their heads.

Guinevere and Merlin let go of the same cry of joy.

\- "Lancelot!"

The young man with gentle black eyes smiles.

\- "Sorry it took us so long to come back when we heard the news ..."

Perceval winks at Gwaine.

\- "Did you _already_ win back your bet?"

Arthur stifles a grimace of pain and gratitude.

\- "Nice to see you, fellows."

Sir Leon sheathes his sword, pursing his lips. Gaius shakes his head.

_Suddenly everything feels so much better._

They are still standing, they are still together.

It's not the end yet.

* * *

**_TBC_**


	12. Brave Little Man

**BRAVE LITTLE MAN**

* * *

The day ended better than it had started.

Sir Leon really enjoyed getting to know the two newcomers. The knight is reliable, sensible, thorough ... he excels at following orders, but never feels comfortable when it is _he_ who must give them. Lancelot, on the contrary, is a born leader and without realizing it, he naturally took charge of the situation, rekindling hope and resolution in all members of their party just being his loyal and confident self. He knows well the area and was able to suggest a change of route, without hurting Sir Leon's pride.

As for Percival, his muscles and good humor are just ... _encouraging_. Now that he is here, they almost forget they are fleeing the kingdom fallen into the hands of the enemy. And what he collects for them to eat is perhaps _a tad_ strange (roots with a flour taste, pine nuts and bulbs of flowers that smell like garlic) but it is more nutritious than Gwaine's berries.

The following night, however, was more difficult.

If Lancelot was unable to close his eyes because of the oh so intoxicating presence of Guinevere inches from him, however the others - with the exception of Arthur whose slumber was due to his high fever - were kept awake by Merlin's incessant changes of position, crunching the dead leaves.

At dawn, no one has the heart to blame him, though. He is paler than the day before and visibly exhausted, even if he claims he's all right with his usual lopsided grin. He stands a little crooked to relieve the pressure on his broken rib and Guinevere often needs to grab him by the arm to keep him from falling when dizziness makes him wobble on his spindly legs.

Arthur is _not_ getting better. He pretty much lost consciousness and the men take turns to carry him on their crossed arms. His wound oozes with pus and the stench emanating from it is enough to give you nausea.

Gaius is also matter of concern: the old man will never have the strength to reach the border of Nemeth, at this rate. His breathing is almost as wheezing as Merlin's and sleeping on the forest ground did nothing to relieve him from his rheumatism aches.

In late afternoon, Lancelot points at a grove that stands amid the wheat fields, not too far in the valley displayed in front of them.

\- "There's a shack down there. I often stop to sleep in it during my travels. We will spend the night there. There will be a bed", he adds, turning to Gaius, "and it'll be safe to make a fire."

He gives his small leather purse to Percival and the brawny man goes down the hill with long strides, towards the village below, with instructions to bring back supplies and information.

Renewed vigor spurts up in their tired spines and they follow the path that winds down into the valley.

The hot sun of the day is now replaced by a warm light that bathes the wide landscape in soft tawny shades. A pleasant breeze flits in Sir Leon's blond curls on his sweat-sticky nape and ripples through the brown locks on Guinevere's forehead, stroking her satin chestnut skin.

Gwaine is delighted to discover a wild apple tree flanks the corner of the rundown cottage and begins to plunder it right away, stuffing an apple in his mouth. Gaius gives up telling him the fruits are not yet ripe and will disrupt his digestion probably even more than the berries from the day before.

Inside, apart from cobwebs that Sir Leon takes off with a few reels of the arm and a considerable amount of dust on the table, two benches and coarse chest, the place is quite nice. Guinevere removes the threadbare blankets from the bed in the corner of the room and goes to shake them outside. The bed is made of intertwined boughs, on which is placed a burlap mattress stuffed with straw and horsehair, and large enough for two adults trolls or a family of five.

Ten seconds later, the young woman's happy face pops up at the window.

\- "There's a _well_ and the pulley works!" she chirps excitedly.

Lancelot smiles adoringly while sweeping with a birch broom and Gaius shakes his head: these two look like two newlyweds settling in their love nest. The old man takes a few minutes of rest on a bench, then forces himself to get up again and explores the shelves.

Merlin snoops aroound too. He finds the wood supply - well furnished, probably from Lancelot's previous halt - and lights a fire in the soot black hearth in the middle of the room.

When Percival arrives at twilight, Gwaine is bringing inside a bucket full of clear water, whistling like he has not done since… _centuries? Yesterday?_

Guinevere has changed into a slightly moth-eaten pair of breeches that were in the chest and cut her long surcoat to turn it into a tunic. She is tearing strips in what remains of her skirts.

Under the watchful eye of the old physician and the worried look of Merlin, Lancelot and Sir Leon are laying down Arthur in the clean, fresh bed.

The knight's red cloak is hanging on a nail, thyme stews quietly in a pot on the fire, a bowl full of raspberries is on the table and the last sunrays lace the room with threads of glittering dust light, passing through the sparse thatched roof.

_It feels ... like home._

Percival puts on the table the enormous loaf of bread he was carrying under his arm, fishes in his bag a sausage, a dozen white and round goat cheeses, a jar of honey and a handful of beans. Then he gives a bottle to Gaius.

\- "I found spirits", he says softly.

The old man nods gravely.

\- "Thank you, Percival."

Then he sends Guinevere outside and explains what they will do. The men listen closely. Merlin is desperately eager to help, but Arthur who regained consciousness at the wrong time, orders him out. Sir Leon helps the prince out of his clothes and removes the wound soiled bandages. Lancelot climbs on the mattress and leans against the wall to tackle the young man's shoulders. Percival kneels beside the bed, one arm girdling the injured man's chest, his other big calloused hand wrapping around Arthur's sweaty palm and squeezing it gently. Gwaine gets ready to keep the legs from jolting.

Merlin hovers around them, anxious and restless, his breath more and more wheezing.

Gaius approaches the water bucket, makes a small pile near him with strips of cloth, then opens the bottle of water spirits and takes a deep breath.

\- "Ready, sire?"

\- "_No"_, groans Arthur, teeth clenched on his leather glove in which Lancelot stuffed a piece of wood.

The sapphires cling to the cobalt orbs.

_Get the hell out of here, Merlin. I don't want you to see any of this._

_I'm scared, Merlin. I'm so scared. Please, stay with me._

Then Gaius pours the alcohol on the wound and the prince sees nothing anymore. He jerks back, breaking the stick in the glove, crushes the hand of Percival who doesn't let go, yells, wrests to get free, screams, his body arching to escape the wrenching burning, swears in a voice that crackles and sputters and moans and _finally_ passes out.

The men have turned white, but they did not flinch.

Now the prince has gone limp, Gaius cleanses thoroughly the swollen and festering wound, carefully removing the scraps of rotten flesh and pressing to drain the pus out.

Sweat is dripping down his forehead, but he does not feel it. His glasses slipped a little on his slick nose. His old fingers are working meticulously, relentless.

He will not let Arthur die.

_He is his prince, he is the child he watched growing up._

This is perhaps the first time the physician realizes Arthur is like a son to him.

He drops the cloth soaked with blood and glutinous yellow ooze on the floor and washes his hands in the bucket next to him.

\- "Merlin, bring me the honey, please. It's on the table."

Nothing moves.

\- "Merlin", Gaius repeats, turning with a squeak of the stool in the direction where the boy was standing.

Gwaine and Lancelot lift their heads, but Percival gently slides his bruised hand out of Arthur's, gets up and fetches the jar.

Merlin is still standing in the same place, his hands pressed on his mouth, his face white as spoiled milk and blotched with silent crying. His frail body is racked by violent tremors and his eyes are bulging with terror and grief. He's struggling to breathe, a pathetic little wheezing sound.

Sir Leon takes off his numb arms that were pinning the prince on the bed and goes to the boy. Gently, very gently, he leads him to the door, holding his trembling shoulders.

\- "No", says Gaius' tired voice behind him.

_He forgot._

He saw so many patients suffer, loads of men injured in battle, prisoners at the stake, women dying in childbirth, sick kids, old folks at death's door.

Merlin has been helping him since he arrived in Camelot and often the old man is amazed by his strength in bearing the sight of these atrocities, as if his strong desire to relieve, to save people, protected the boy.

_But it's different this time._

_This time it is Arthur._

Gaius wants to beat himself badly for not listening to the order mumbled by the prince, to get his servant out of the room.

_And ..._

_Now it's too late to go back, so they should at least end this nightmare quickly._

Sir Leon gives a puzzled glance to the physician.

\- "Guinevere will take care of him", he says tentatively. "He's shocked, but he'll be better in a moment ..."

Gaius takes off his glasses, runs a hand over his face gray with fatigue and pinches the bridge of his nose.

\- "No", he finally repeats. "Sir Leon, I need you to take care of Arthur. Go get fresh water, bathe him the best you can. He will sleep better if we rid him of this sweat of agony and this ... smell. Give the linens and the clothes to Guinevere. If she can wash them tonight they'll be dry tomorrow and it'll be even better for the prince. He should be as comfortable as possible to rest if we want him to heal."

Sir Leon nods and gently pats Merlin's quivering shoulder before complying. The boy who is still suffocating in anguish does not even feel it.

\- "Lancelot, Gwaine. You will help me. He's nothing near the built of the prince, so two men should suffice, but I require you to be as vigilant as possible. I don't want his broken rib to be dislodged ..."

\- "_No_."

Lancelot, who paled as he understood what the physician was talking about, turns his head toward Gwaine. The bearded young man stood up and is shaking his chin stubbornly.

\- "No", he repeats in a hoarse whisper. "Count me out of it. I ... I can't, I'm sorry. I'll go ... prepare the mattresses for tonight."

His dark eyes avoid their looks as he goes around the bed and heads for the door with unsteady strides.

The door falls shut behind him. The sun has gone, now, and the light is dimming in the single room of the cottage.

Gaius is still frowning terribly when he turns to Percival.

\- "I'll help", hastily provides the brawny man.

Carefully, Lancelot lowers Arthur onto the rough pillow. Then he gets off the bed, walks on the footprints Gwaine left in the dirt and puts his arm on Merlin's shoulders, very gently.

\- "Come", he says, leading him to a bench.

He makes him sit and waits for Gaius to come to them in a weary motion.

\- "Merlin. _Merlin_, look at me", says the physician. "Everything's fine, now. Arthur doesn't hurt anymore. He's asleep. He will feel much better tomorrow, you'll see."

The boy's teeth are clattering and his chest rises erratically, tears streaking down his hollow cheekbones, gasps of pain barely escaping his blue tinted lips.

Gaius massages his grandson's hands.

\- "Listen to me, my boy. You need to be very brave for a while. I ..."

He inhales, touches the cheek of Merlin who immediately snuggles in his palm.

His blue eyes are still blinking but the horror is slightly fading in the pit of his dilated irises.

\- "I… I need to clean your wound too. This is important so that it does not get infected. It won't hurt as much as it did to Arthur, I promise."

Lancelot softly squeezes Merlin's nape when he stiffens and Percival comes crouching in front of him.

\- "You can do it, little man", he says with a smile, and his big paws swaddle the boy's hands, as he did for the prince.

\- "It won't be long", promises Gaius.

His heart clamps painfully in his chest when his grandson nods, shivering, his frightened blue eyes trusting their gazes.

_Merlin._

_You really are the bravest of us all ..._

When they have given his shirt to Guinevere who did not dwell in the room for long (her cheeks stained with tears telling she heard everything from the outside), Lancelot sits astride on the bench and wraps his arms around Merlin who instinctively shrinks against him. Percival waits for Gaius to be ready with the cloth dampened with alcohol which vapors seem to make the boy slightly giddy, then he settles his massive arm on Merlin's lap, imprisoning his ankles between his knees.

\- "I am _so_ sorry, my boy ..." whispers the old man, and he begins to clean the wound carefully.

And it doesn't last long, actually.

_Just a few minutes, that feel like years._

Merlin shrieks when the burning liquid touches the edge of the wound, twists desperately, trying to push the hand of his grandfather. Lancelot stops him, so he tries to bite him and kicks Percival, but the two men do not budge. The boy mewls in pain, writhes, cries and begs them to stop, sobbing that it hurts, that they lied, and can't they just let go of him, _please ... please_ ...

Then something snaps inside his frail body drenched in sweat and for a moment he seems about to choke. Then he goes limp in their arms and his head flumps back softly on Lancelot's shoulder.

Outside, leaning against the wall of the cottage, Gwaine is biting his fist and tears trickle down in his beard, never stopping.

Gaius breathes in deeply when he's done working. His eyes are wet and if his hand does not tremble, it is because the doctor still has control over the grandfather.

\- "Put him in the bed next to the prince", he tells Lancelot in a strained voice. "Percival, may I ask you to help me go to Arthur? I think my old bones do not have the strength to carry me ..."

The burly man holds him to the bed and approaches the stool. Gaius takes the honey jar and carefully daubs the prince's wound, while Lancelot cleans Merlin's sticky chest with the clear water Sir Leon brought back.

Gwaine comes back, silent and discreet like a shadow in the corner of the room. He contemplates the fragile form of the servant, listens to his labored breathing, and he does not dare to get closer.

It is Percival who, after a while, gives him the honey jar and shows him how to copy Gaius' ministrations.

Night has come and coats the wheat fields swishing in the dark. An owl hoots in the distance, bats are whiffling somewhere under the branches of the apple tree. Crickets begin their peaceful rhyme when the first star appears on the celestial dome.

Guinevere hangs the last strips of fabric beside the prince's and his servant's tunics on a rope stretched between two trees. She wipes her cheeks, grits her lips and goes back inside.

The men have rekindled the fire. Gaius is dozing on the stool next to the bed, mouth ajar with quiet snores, his hoary-haired head leaning against the whitewashed wall. Arthur's sturdy shoulders and Merlin's bony ones are tucked under the blankets, both sleeping faces gleaming a bit in the glow of the flames.

Sir Leon cuts the bread, Lancelot brings three chipped plates he found on the shelves. Percival fills a clay pitcher with the thyme infusion. Gwaine puts down the mattresses on the floor along the wall opposite the bed.

They don't speak much.

The route they will take as soon as Arthur's condition has slightly improved, rumors about the fall of Camelot beginning to spread, no dogs on their footsteps as if Cenred and the two sisters did not care about the prince's whereabouts, their worries and expectations about the welcome of the king of Nemeth, where it will be easier to cross the border.

Guinevere gets up to wash the dishes when they're finished eating, but Lancelot shakes his head and sends her to rest. Percival goes to collect more firewood and Gwaine brings a steaming bowl of soup to Gaius. The old physician swallows his food quickly, then checks Arthur's pulse and puts his hand on Merlin's forehead before he agrees to lie down a bit on Sir Leon's insistence.

The first to take watch is instructed to keep an eye on both patients.

At midnight, everyone is sound asleep in the quiet cottage, including Gwaine, his head nestled on his arms folded on the table.

Arthur coughs in his sleep, stirs and growls as he regains consciousness. His head feels heavy. The pain in his thigh is throbbing dully, as if detached from him. The room is completely dark, except for a moonbeam sliding through the thatched roof and haloing the sleeping forms along the wall. The prince turns his head to the right, painfully.

_Where's the watchman?_ He is terribly thirsty but feebler than a beetle crushed on a shield.

_Oh. It's Gwaine._ The bearded clown, who is also an outstanding swordsman and a drunkard, is slumbering like everyone else.

_Holy Patience._

A breath grazes Arthur's naked shoulder, followed by a move on his left, then a sough like one of a wet kitten.

The prince turns his head to the other side and his eyes meet a mop of black hair and two blue eyes fluttering open.

\- "... 'thur?"

The young man frowns, clears his thoughts with a cough.

\- "Why are you sleeping in here? Did you faint _again_?" he asks hoarsely.

Merlin changes position and his wheezing increases with a grimace of pain as he clutches on the bandage swathed around his scrawny chest.

\- "Shhh ... easy…" murmurs Arthur turning on his side, careful to not moving his injured leg. "Calm down. How did you get yourself in this state? This is nonsense, _Mer_lin."

The boy, who is trying to regain control of his laborious breath, still tries to smile.

His cobalt orbs cling to Arthur's blue eyes like if they were a lifeline.

\- "S-so-rry..."

\- "_Sorry_ solves nothing", scoffs the prince. "Look at you. What were you thinking? You wanted to be a hero, I bet. You couldn't stay quietly in a corner, like any ordinary servant?"

He doesn't know, but the little wrinkle in the corner of his right eyelid tells people when he's not _really_ angry.

\- "Geo… rge ... he ... does not ... fall ... in ... the ... st ... st-airs ..."

\- "It must be his only positive feature", Arthur says sarcastically. "Uninteresting and very steady on his feet. Maybe he should volunteer to serve as a statue."

Merlin seems to breathe a little easier and the prince feels the weight lift up a bit from of his own chest.

\- "Merlin, you're not a soldier. You don't need to fight or die for _anyone_ or _anything"_, he says gravely. "I, on the contrary, swore an oath as a knight. It's _different_. So next time, let me do my duty and don't go standing in the way. Find a good spot to hide and ... "

The boy shakes his head.

\- "I'm ... not ... a coward ... I ... won't ... let … you ... get ...hurt…"

His face contorts and he moans, trying to escape the pain that yanked in his ribs when he moved involuntary to lift his head and give more weight to his words.

Arthur winces in echo and looks for a way to comfort him: a pat on the shoulder or perhaps just pushing back the black locks tangled on his servant's forehead.

Merlin sinks into the mattress, out of breath.

\- "I know", says the prince softly. "I know you're not a coward, but ..."

The cobalt orbs stare at him intensely in the light of the moon, bright with fever, or tears, or challenge.

\- "But... I'm ... just ... a ... s-servant ..."

Arthur smiles. His hand reaches out and pulls up the blanket on the quivering bony shoulders.

\- "You're _my_ servant. A very courageous servant. And incredibly loyal. Not a coward at all", he says sincerely.

Then a lump swollens in his throat and his smile fades.

\- "Don't change, Merlin ... please..."

_Don't betray me._

_Never look at me one day with the eyes of Morgana._

The free hand of the boy, the one that is not clutching on the bandage protecting his ribs, grabs his and squeezes it.

Strong, so strong that it almost hurts.

\- "I ... won't ... change ... ... I ... will ... always... stay by… your side ..."

Arthur bites his lips.

\- "_Why_?" he mutters bitterly. "I've lost everything... got no more crown ... no more land ... no more family ... Did I have something _before_? I don't think I was even worth any of this. I ... I'm just ... a _prat_."

Merlin grins royally.

\- "That's r-right… you're a prat", he whispers with his usual cheekiness. "But… you're… also… a g-great… warrior… and o-one day… you'll be… a… great… king…"

His blue eyes have become very serious and his eyelids are fighting the exhaustion overcoming him.

\- "Me… I'm happy… to be ... your s-servant ... till... the day I die..."

Arthur looks at the boy drifting back to sleep and he still does not understand.

He saved Merlin only _once_.

_Surely, it was not a debt that must be repaid at such a price._

A hand touches his shoulder and he turns his head to the right.

Gwaine is here with a cup filled with thyme infusion. He slips his arm behind the prince's back, lifts his shoulders a bit, helps him to drink.

Arthur feels completely drained after that.

-"T'nks ..." he mumbles when he lies back down.

\- "You're welcome, my friend", Gwaine whispers in the dark.

He stands still for a moment, the empty cup in his hand, then stifles a sigh.

\- "Some incredible kid..."

Arthur does not hear him. He closed his eyes and sleep won him over almost immediately. He has not let go of Merlin's slender hand.

And he's still holding it the next day when the rising sun slithers through the roof holes, dancing in golden flies on the bearded cheek of Gwaine who fell asleep again at the table.

Gaius gets up, yawning, his joints grinding as he stretches, and goes too see how both patients are doing.

The others wake up one by one, rested, refreshed. Sir Leon frowns, realizing they probably spent the night without a watchman, but his good mood comes back when Lancelot offers him a piece of cheese at the tip of his knife. Guinevere and Percival volunteer to go to the farm down the road to get some soured milk for the two injured men.

Merlin eats with gusto and Arthur manages not to throw up his meagre breakfast.

Gaius reluctantly agrees on leaving the cottage to keep moving towards Nemeth. He understands the concerns of Lancelot and the knight, but it's really not reasonable for the prince's health.

Gwaine is to be thanked for the century's best idea, this time. He makes a stretcher with long intertwined branches and pads it with woolen blankets. Arthur is settled on it and the four men lift the makeshift bed.

Guinevere is responsible for the water and food supplies, Gaius monitors Merlin who's teasing the prince but whose breathing has not improved. The physician has checked again his grandson's chest for any bubbling sound under the skin, but he couldn't hear anything wrong. The only worry is probably the trouble the boy has in filling his lungs because of the pain in his _two_ broken ribs.

\- "Let's go", says Lancelot.

Arthur spends the day dozing and moaning whenever someone trips over a rock and the shock ripples in his leg.

They take a break for lunch and Gaius examines his grandson again.

Merlin is very pale now, and did not utter a word for hours. His lips are a little blue and he mentions his ears ringing from time to time. He does not eat anything, does not even try to laugh when Gwaine puts his hands in a hive and finds himself chased by a swarm of angry bees.

The boy does not seem to find relief in any position and his forehead is hot to the touch.

\- "He can't keep walking", Gaius says sternly when Lancelot tells them it's time to move on.

\- "Then we need to carry him", the young man replies simply. "If we don't make it to the ruins of Asgorath tonight, we won't be safe. This area is infested with bandits."

Percival nods.

\- "I'll do it. Lady Guinevere, will you be strong enough to help with the stretcher?"

The young woman rolls her eyes for the umpteenth time since the beginning of the trip.

\- "I'm _not_ a lady", she corrects, smiling. "And _yes_, I'll be fine. You really have no clue the amount of water that must be carried up the stairs of the castle for the bath of a nobleman! I'm probably tougher than you."

Sir Leon chuckles and Lancelot's eyes sparkle with laughter.

Merlin pouts, but he does not struggle when Percival picks him up without any effort, slipping an arm under the knees of the servant and the other behind his back.

The boy moans a little when his body rocks against the massive chest of the brawny man, then he manages to huddle as comfortably as he can. His long legs dangle like those of a child (he is not much heavier than one) and he ends up leaning his head against Percival's shoulder.

\- "You're all right, little man? If you feel sick or if it hurts, tell me, I'll stop."

\- "No", groans Merlin, closing his eyes, visibly tired. "We must go quickly to where Arthur can rest properly. And I'm not _little_."

\- "Sure."

Gaius fills up the water skin and rolls what's left of the food in a blanket he knots. They follow the valley on a fairly flat road, bordered by fields and a river flowing merrily in the shade of oak trees. They don't meet a soul and Lancelot explains it's because this road is no longer a major route. There is a large village on the other side of the valley and it is through it the merchants have been going for some years.

Sir Leon's admiration for the smart vagabond keeps rising. He is really starting to regret that Uther Pendragon did not do an exception for him.

Guinevere is holding up well and the three men are proud to share the weight of the stretcher with her.

Arthur, fortunately for him (_he's mortified to be carried by a woman_) and for everyone else (_his bad temper has increased because he dare not complain about stones anymore_), has given into another fever induced slumber.

Gaius managed to gather herbs along the road without being left too far behind. He is rather pleased with himself. He will be able to make an ointment for Gwen's blisters and a poultice for his old joints. He hums an outdated epic song and, amused, finds out Lancelot knows it too.

Percival follows the stretcher at an even pace and quietly smiles when Gwaine turns to shout:

\- "You all right, big man?"

He mouths "fine", without a sound.

Nuzzled against his shoulder, Merlin is sound asleep.

* * *

_**TBC **_

* * *

_**There! Finally... Thought I was never going to post it... Took me TWELVE HOURS to write it in French (including the research : never try to do like Gaius, his methods are outdated by more than a century) and SEVEN hours to translate it... (and so many mistakes still lurking in between the sentences... tsk). Anyways, I'm really glad it's up for you to read, now, 'coz I can't wait to know what you think (feel) of it ! No more chapters till next week, I'm sorry, real life is being a huge bother nowadays, but I can promise next chapter will be cute and fluffy (don't we need some sweetness after such a gruesome chapter?) and you probably will want to give Gwaine a hug... poor thing. I am already (but it's because I know what's coming up). Kittens were delayed, they'll come join the jig in two chapters or so.**_

_**Percival at his best in chapter 13, Arthur being a dear big brother, a stranger telling them tales of the Past and Future... and we'll get to see how Merlin remembers his first encounter with the prince.**_

_**By the way, remember what I said about people dying and others not and the cannon still not changing in the end? It's about the overall story, not just the coming chapters. But you might be able to crack the riddle soon enough...**_

_**See you soon and THANK YOU SO MUCH for the reviews : they're the very reason why I nearly killed myself to give you 3 chapters in a row! *squeals in delight" YOU ARE AWESOME !**_


	13. Night Whispers Tales of Truth

** NIGHT WHISPERS TALES OF TRUTH**

* * *

Twilight fills the sky with rills of lilac and streaks of light, giving the mountains a glowing red and golden halo, as if the forest was burning beyond the border. The evening is fresh. Mosquitoes swish along the stream gulling down on their right, like a glittering ribbon in the coming darkness.

The wings of a night butterfly brush against Gaius' wizened forehead and the old man casts a glance behind him. He is still out of breath after the hard climb on the narrow path. Lancelot has promised the rest of the way to the watchtower in ruins would be a little flatter. The stretcher-bearers did not complain, but they are visibly tired.

Percival had to rouse Merlin and let him walk for the uphill part. The boy complied valiantly despite his tottering and the many breaks he had to take to catch his breath. The brawny man scooped him up as soon as they arrived at the top of the slope and the servant did not protest. Instead he snuggled back against the broad chest of his big friend and went back to sleep almost immediately.

But he is much less peaceful than before. He mumbles in his slumber, whimpers feebly, his eyelashes fluttering, and his skin is hot, you can feel it even through his thin cerulean tunic.

Percival would like to do something to relieve him somehow, _but what can he do_? He feels terribly helpless and, for lack of better, mutters comforting words, tells stories of unlucky jesters, mischievous goblins, frogs that could dance. From time to time, Merlin half-opens a blue eye and a weak grin grazes his tensed features.

When Lancelot says they have arrived at their home base for the day, Percival has exhausted his repertoire of tales and his big deep voice hums the messed-up verses of an outdated ballade. The boy has swung an arm around his neck and his wheezing breath breezes against the sturdy man's throat. He is finally dozing more serenely and, worried that stopping would wake him up, Percival decides to keep pacing until Gaius is done checking on Arthur.

Sir Leon gathers some large stones and starts a fire, Lancelot goes off to ensure the area is secure, Guinevere is fetching water. Gwaine brings an armful of dead wood, then loiters near the giant.

\- "What y'doing?" he asks, tiptoeing to look at Merlin's face, nestled against his friend's tunic.

\- "My sister used to sing a lullaby to her kids when they had a fever", Percival explains in his usual slow voice. "It made the ills go away faster. I thought ... well, can't be bad for him ..."

He keeps an eye on the old physician who is redressing Arthur's leg, next to the fire. His arms are a little sore, but it doesn't matter.

\- "You have nephews?"

\- "Three. They live in Mercia, with my sister. She's a widow. Her husband got killed along with our parents. Bandits, slaughtered almost the whole village. I took her to Mercia, found her a place to live, people to care for her and the kids. I visit them, from time to time. Lancelot met her once."

Gwaine nods in silence, then his brown eyes smile over his curly beard.

\- "You'd make a wonderful father."

Percival blinks, flabbergasted.

\- "You know, sometimes, the random stuff that comes out of this mouth of yours can be rather unsettling."

Gwaine tilts his head to the side when Merlin mumbles in his sleep and drools a bit on Percival's tunic. He smiles fondly, reaches out to disentangle the sticky black curls on the boy's forehead, but suddenly changes his mind.

His face darkens and the burly man considers him, concerned.

\- "What's wrong, mate?"

Gwaine's voice is almost a whisper when he finally speaks, his eyes still gazing at the sleeping servant.

\- "I am… such a coward. I wish I'd be stronger, that I… like, yesterday. I just… I _couldn't_, Percival. I just couldn't _stand_ seeing him hurt and knowing _I_ couldn't do anything to stop the pain. I… I-I was… _just_ the screams were already _excruciating_. Like something ripping my soul into shards… _he_ should never have to hurt like this…"

He shudders.

\- "I know", says the giant quietly.

Lancelot is back from his inspection and crouched next to Gaius. The old physician explains something in a low voice, his withered hand resting on the arm of Arthur who is sulking. Guinevere prepares their supper. Sir Leon is piling ferns along the collapsed wall to serve as mattresses.

The fire casts golden shadows on the old stones. The watchtower soars to the stars, a little blurred by the translucent smoke.

No one approached the two men. Gwaine's hunched shoulders and the patient look on Percival's face are enough for the others to leave them some time and space.

\- "I… I care so much for this kid. I… I really don't know what he saw in me, but… He's just different. Amazing. So simple and so naive and so pure… Makes you want to give your best… I was… I was _so alone_. So lost. Just a drunk, with no purpose, no path, no one. And there he came, looked at me with his big blue eyes…"

Gwaine chokes on the lump in his throat and he turns his head to hide the emotion peering in the corner of his eye.

\- "And I started to think I could actually _do_ something with my life. Be a proper human being. Try lifting up my head and looking at the world the way he does. I'm no fool, I know I'll never be a proper knight like my father or Lancelot, nor a good man like you. But… if I could _only_… make him proud."

His voice is nothing but faint murmur, but Percival still hears. He smiles at his friend over the mop of black hair cuddled on his shoulder.

\- "He's _already_ proud of you, Gwaine. He can see what a brave and honest man you are. And he got us to see it too. You're not alone anymore."

* * *

_"You're not alone anymore."_

_The words leap cheerfully in Merlin's heart, roll under his tongue, sparkle in his cerulean eyes. He would like to shout them loudly in the streets, putting them in melody like pearls, but the others are not ready._

_Will they ever be?_

_So he looks around, intensely, earnestly, and each time he meets tired or wounded gazes, he offers the precious words._

_"You are not alone."_

_"You exist for a good reason."_

_"You are loved."_

_"I'm glad I met you."_

_People are so unhappy, so much in a hurry, so forgetful, so mistrustful._

_Why nobody hears the words he sings in silence?_

_Why are they always pushing him away with a shrug, a grunt, a slap?_

_Why are they mocking him and why, _why_, do they always enjoy seeing his rangy legs tangle and trip? Why is it so funny to hurt him?_

_Merlin tries again and again._

_Every morning he wakes up with the same fervid desire to smile, to tell people life is wonderful, a precious gift they should rejoice over receiving._

_Every night he lies down under the blanket and muffles disappointed tears, trying to count. This little girl answered his smile with shyness. That old man relented. This big woman ruffled her hair and handed him a cookie calling him an "angel." Surely they understood ... but why _only_ them?_

_Why is the world full of people moaning, crying, sighing, yelling?_

_How can Merlin make them all happy?_

_"That's impossible, my love," Mama said._

_"That's impossible, my boy," Gaius said._

_But he wants to believe it is._

_He wants to try once again._

_Merlin knows his many flaws: he is a klutz, he is a ditz, he can not write very well and he has big ears._

_But he also knows how tenacious he can be and he is proud of it._

_So he keeps trying, he hopes, he believes._

_And one day at the market, when he turns round in the circle of dancing children who go too fast and make him dizzy with their usual chanting - "idiot, idiot, idiot" - he stumbles and in the blazing sun, stands a figure with broad shoulders, arms crossed._

_He blinks._

_Sunlight plays in the blond hair of the man, haloing him like a waterfall when he steps forward._

_He makes the dancing stop, he sends away the children. His voice is strong._

_An annoyed voice, rumbling to hide his doubts and fears._

_When Merlin meets the blue eyes of the young man, he sees anger, compassion, and so many questions._

_"I'm so alone."_

_"What should I do?"_

_"Does anyone care about me?"_

_Merlin smiles and then he gives, as he always does._

_His gaze, his love, his hope._

_"I'm here."_

_And the young man tilts his head to the side after stepping aside as if he is not so sure he heard well._

_\- "What's your name? Your _real_ name."_

_This is the first time someone takes the trouble to ask this question._

_This is more than a simple "thank you", more than a softened glance, more than sparing him a kick in the legs._

_Merlin's heart swells with gratitude and when he goes to bed that night, he curls into a ball under the blanket and giggles with delight._

_Puzzled sapphires looked at him._

_The whole of him._

_Like an answer to the words his heart whispers._

_Like if they were calling for him._

_So he looks for the young man with sunny hair and observes him from a distance._

_His name is Arthur._

_He often boasts, he likes to fight with dangerous weapons, he is constantly surrounded by a bunch of people who flatter him. He lives in luxury, he eats his fill, he is always clothed in bright red and glossy leather._

_The king is his father._

_He is often leaning on the ramparts, watching people go in and out of the citadel as if he were a prisoner. Behind his back, people call him a prat and they mock him. He has no one to tell his dreams and there is nothing sincere in the way he laughs._

_He is all alone._

_So Merlin decides he will watch over him._

_Like a kitten, he trots in the shadow of the prince who does not realize it. Like a dragon, he defends him when one speaks ill of him and protects him at the peril of his life._

_And when he becomes the prince's manservant every day is a new reason to believe. Later, others come and join spontaneously to his efforts._

_The world may change, because someone started acting differently._

_One day Arthur will be king._

_And no one will be forgotten anymore._

* * *

The fire crackles in the night, at the foot of the watchtower in ruins.

Percival kneels carefully, Merlin still cradled in his arms, and unfolds the long legs of the boy on the ferns mattress while Gaius checks on his grandson.

\- "He's running a fever", says the brawny man.

\- "Is it the wound getting infected?" asks Gwaine in concern, crouched beside them, chewing on a long blade of grass.

The old man shakes his head, knotting back the laces of Merlin's tunic.

\- "No, it's just because he's exhausted. The wound is on the mend and he is young. The ribs also will heal over time."

He strokes the pale face leaning against Percival's biceps and his constant frowning smoothes down a little.

\- "My poor boy ..."

Merlin chooses this moment to half-open his eyes and he smiles when he sees his grandfather.

\- "Are we there yet?" he yawns.

Gwaine chuckles.

\- "Nope."

\- "Where's Arthur?"

They could have bet on this being the next question.

\- "Right there", says Gaius, showing the prince laying on the other side of the ferns mattress, under the blanket and Sir Leon's red cloak. "He's very weak. His injury is getting better, but he needs to eat something to regain strength – and I can't get him to."

\- "Oh", says Merlin, pushing himself up.

Percival accompanies the move and prevents him from tipping when the inevitable dizziness assails him.

\- "Where are you going like that, mate?" Gwaine inquires.

\- "He needs to eat, and he _will_", resolutely replies the boy going towards the fire.

Guinevere hands him a piece of bread and a chunk of cheese, smiling at him despite her obvious fatigue. Her curly brown hair is dirty and raveled. Her clothes makes her itchy, she has a stomachache and she wants to take a bath. But she's determined not to break down.

Women can be as courageous as men and she will not be a burden to her fellow travelers, not as long as she has the choice.

She watches Merlin sitting cross-legged next to Arthur and marvels once more at this tireless loyalty.

The prince growls, shoves back the hand of his manservant.

\- "Merlin, for once, leave me in peace, please..."

\- "Gaius says you have to eat to get better, sire", insists the boy. "Come on, dollophead. If you love dozing on ferns layers, I will make you a new bed when we go back to Camelot and then you can give me your old mattress that is so _uncomfortable_."

\- "Shut up, Merlin ..."

\- "You know, this cheese is not bad, once you overcome its Gwaine-y sock smell. Don't pull a face, it's not like it was rat. And rat is not even this disgusting, actually. It's just ... _stringy_. You should try once!

Arthur is too tired to fight against this flood of words and he does not like the red spots that this agitation brings about the too white cheeks of his manservant.

He yields, lifts on his elbows, nibbles on a crunchy piece of bread on which, while chatting, Merlin melted a slice of cheese.

This is not bad and the prince realizes he is - a bit - hungry.

Sir Leon smiles from the stone on which he sits.

\- "He's so leading him by the nose", he mutters between high and low.

At his side, Lancelot laughs softly while munching his supper.

The fire glints in Guinevere's velvet eyes, in front of him. She is so beautiful, even dressed like that, even after several days of flight.

_Beautiful and brave._

The young woman feels his eyes on her and briefly looks up. Her eyelashes quiver, a shade of pink warms her cheeks, she stares at her dusty boots, tying her arms around her knees.

_She avoids him._

_She mesmerizes him._

_Does she love him? Is he a good friend ... or is she in love with Arthur? What would the prince react if Lancelot got one step closer to the woman he loves? Would they become enemies?_

The young man shakes his head to get rid of these thoughts and wolfs down his last piece of bread.

_This is not the right time. Definitely not._

_When will it be the right time?_

The night breeze runs through the undergrowth, ruffling in the bushes, whirling around the trees.

A shiver runs down Lancelot's spine and he stands almost by an instinct. Sir Leon looks surprised for a moment, then his face stiffens and he does the same, his hand gripping his sword.

The fire is still crackling in the middle of the circle, but the relaxed atmosphere has suddenly vanished.

Far above them, the round moon shrouds the decrepit tower in a spectral glow.

\- "What is it?" Guinevere whispers anxiously. "Bandits?"

\- "D'you believe Cenred's soldiers caught up with us?" mumbles Gwaine, moving almost in slow motion to stand in front of the prince.

Gaius is armed himself with a twig, Percival scans the darkness beyond the collapsed wall that protects them from the cold breath of the forest.

Arthur sat up in a fierce motion and tackled Merlin onto the pile of ferns. He holds him down, tucked under his arm, not caring for the wheezing and the muffled protests of the boy. He grabbed his sword with his other hand and his blue eyes bright with fever are focused, ready to fight despite his weak condition.

A chunk of cheese rolled in the grass and an ant trots over its crust.

A cinder bursts with blazing sparks. Shadows are ghosting in the forest. Slowly, very slowly, a figure hidden under a long homespun cloak comes out the darkness.

\- "Show yourself!" orders Lancelot, threatening.

The stranger's arms signal peace and the cloak opens, revealing a coarse woolen robe and a rope belt.

\- "I only wish to warm up a bit by your fire", says a husky voice.

\- "It's an old woman", says Guinevere with compassion, getting up and coming to her despite the men's wariness.

Lancelot holds his breath and Merlin watches from below Arthur's elbow when the stranger takes off her thick hood, revealing a face shriveled like an overripe apple and gray eyes like two drops of water, under a bluish turban.

\- "My name is Finna", says the woman, her translucent gaze settling on each of them, one after the other. "And you flee Camelot. Tomorrow night will see the end of your journey."

Sir Leon looks ready to kill her at the instant, but Percival shakes his head.

\- "She's a druid", he says hesitantly, his chin pointing at the black tattoos intertwined on the parchment skin of the intruder's skinny wrists.

Arthur frowns disgruntledly.

\- "_So_?"

Lancelot sheathes his sword calmly.

\- "Druids are peaceful people and do not care about the realms quarrels or even their borders", Gaius explains, looking much more at ease. "They belong everywhere and nowhere."

The cold breeze that had risen in the forest has died down. A night owl calls in the distance, a familiar hoarse cry. Tiny flames gnaw at the big red logs sinking in the hoary ashes.

The mild summer evening is peaceful again.

Lancelot sits down and, trusting in his air of authority, Sir Leon does the same. Guinevere offers a drink to the old woman who accepts with a smile. Percival skewers a piece of bread on a twig, tops it with a chunk of cheese and roasts it all before handing it to their visitor.

Arthur takes his arm off and Merlin straightens, hissing in anger and pain.

\- "That _hurt_!" he complains in a shrill voice.

The prince ignores him royally and sits up on the bed of ferns, leaning his back to the stone wall and keeping an eye on the newcomer.

_Druid or not, they don't need anyone meddling with them._

Gwaine goes off to look for wood. When he comes back, he crouches beside the prince and whispers "she is alone" quickly, before feeding the fire.

\- "You're suspicious of me, young man", says the old woman, curiously amused.

Gwaine mutters something under his breath, avoiding looking at her.

She laughs softly, staring at them with almost transparent irises, tilting her head a little to one side. Her eyes linger longer on Arthur and she smiles in a strange way, almost tenderly, almost respectfully.

\- "All those years of life and I never thought one day my eyes would see the real thing", she whispers, leaning towards Gaius who raises an eyebrow, puzzled (and probably a little worried about a potential new "Grunhilda" case).

\- "I beg your pardon?" he mumbles.

The old woman giggles, and she reaches out towards Merlin under the surprised look of the others.

\- "Will you come here for a moment, young man?"

The boy exchanges glances with the prince who nods grimly.

_What can he say, really? "No, Merlin, don't go to the harmless old lady "? That would be ridiculous._

The servant unfolds slowly, wincing when the motion pulls on his ribs, and comes to the stranger, dragging his feet a little. She smiles and the wrinkles on her translucent skin pucker the corner of his eyes, making her look like a good grandmother.

\- "Will you let me take your hand?"

Merlin shrugs and complies.

Gwaine and Arthur monitor the scene, tense and wary. Gaius ponders intensely, his bushy eyebrows knotting in the middle of his forehead. Lancelot and Sir Leon are intrigued. Guinevere finds the moment very sweet.

The woman contemplates the calloused palm of the boy for a long time, then her eyes lift up to him.

\- "So it was true. The time has come", she whispers in a barely audible voice. "_The once and future king, mighty sovereign lead by the hand of a child. Peace comes at the price of great sorrows and strength is no more than a beat of the heart_."

A tear runs down her cheek.

\- "Yes. Yes", she repeats softly, and her old hand reaches out to stroke Merlin's cheek. He does not understand and his cobalt orbs are clearly wondering how to comfort her. "That's what they said_. There never was a kindest soul, a purest gaze. In these eyes the old and the new meet light and find more than just the end of worlds_."

Arthur stirs uncomfortably on the pile of ferns.

_Won't this granny soon stop talking in riddles and shed tears that have no reason to be?_

He is - almost - scared.

\- "Merlin", he calls abruptly.

The manservant hesitates - perhaps for the first time since they know each other. He looks at the old woman and she does not move, quivering. Then he leans in and kisses her forehead with great gentleness.

For a few imperceptible seconds, there is no more gangly boy with protruding ears in the middle of the circle, but a lean young man on whose shoulders rests the weight of destiny.

Merlin straightens up and his blue eyes smile lovingly at Finna, with the simplicity they know so well. He gently withdraws his hand and waddles back to sit next to Arthur.

The prince poorly conceals a sigh of relief.

\- "What does that mean?" Gaius asks, leaning toward the old woman. "I think I recognized the words of an ancient legend, that some used to say was but a prophecy."

The opalescent eyes of the old woman turn to him, lost in what could be a trance and she purses her lips.

\- "_Rest comes to the elders, but to whom has sealed his eyes will not be granted_", she hisses. "_Until more than you lost shall have you save_."

Gaius' face crumbles down and he does say another word. He suddenly looks like a wilted plant and his steps are heavy when he gets up to go lay down on the mattress of ferns. Guinevere brings him a blanket, then comes back to the fire.

Sir Leon clears his throat.

\- "I'll take first watch", he says, turning to Lancelot who nods obliviously, staring at the strange woman.

\- "_Witness of the past and guardian of the future, whom who has seen and will see"_, she mumbles, swaying slightly back and forth. "_Loyalty lays at the foot of the throne as time flies and comes round_."

She lifts her chin to the stars and another tear runs down her cheek. Then her eyes glaze.

\- "_Wandering soul who found banner, when heaven's feathers will kiss the earth, only one path shall open for you. Sword against sword to spare the lives of thousands. To save the king, the Knight of the Lake will know what choice to make_.

She holds a trembling bony hand towards Percival who cringes.

\- "_Steady your heart, for you will be the sole protector of Eternity and stand alone to guide young years in memory"_, she recites in a disembodied voice.

Gwaine feels a chill run down his spine.

_He does not like it, oh no, not at all._

_And besides, no one here appreciates the weird poems. They should not have accepted her joining their fire and what are they waiting for to send her back to hell where she comes from?_

His heart misses a beat when he realizes she's now staring at him.

There is no anger in these limpid eyes, not vertiginous emptiness nor the loving worship she offered to Merlin.

Only a great sadness.

\- "_When comes the last dawn, fear not, you have not failed. None of us can know or change destiny. What was written will be, but it is your courage that will be remembered_."

The bearded young man freezes, annoyed, angry, scared, destabilized.

_Will she shut up soon?_

His voice is clotted in his throat and he fails to speak, to protest, to laugh or to sourly retort.

_Are they stuck in the moment? Has she enchanted them?_

_Why is nobody saying anything?_

He takes a deep breath, trying to calm down and notices that Sir Leon got up and is now standing at the edge of the forest, his hand on the hilt of his sword. Gaius is still lying on the mattress of ferns and his back to them. Percival quaffs what's left in his water skin then gets up to fill it at the stream in the undergrowth. Guinevere and Lancelot are sitting on each side of the fire, pensive. The young woman has her arms tied around her knees, and the man rests his elbows on his thighs, lost in his thoughts, the flames dancing in his black eyes.

Finna is still sitting on her stone, wrapped in her long thick blue cloak, her wrinkled face turned toward him with compassion.

_How much time has passed?_

_As she spoken aloud? Was he dreaming? Do others feel like him this strange atmosphere?_

He casts a glance towards the prince and feels a lot better.

Arthur looks irked and peeved, leaning against the stone wall, his sword on the cover at his right.

Merlin is dozing against his left shoulder, his wheezing barely relieved by the fact he's seated. His long legs are sprawled out in front of him on the pile of ferns and if not for the red spots on his pale cheekbones, he looks perfectly peaceful, perfectly happy, perfectly where he belongs.

Gwaine unfolds with caution, but the woman does not try to stop him and does not speak either. the bearded young man goes to crouch next to the prince.

\- "She's a freak", he mutters.

\- "Took you that long to notice?" Arthur hisses in an exasperated tone.

\- "I don't think we should let her stay here tonight."

\- "It's at times like this that I understand why my father has a grudge against witchcraft ..."

\- "She's not a witch, she's a druid", corrects a sleepily voice.

\- "Shut up, _Mer_lin", the prince replies immediately. "Go back to sleep."

\- "…'Kay."

Gwaine chuckles fondly as the manservant re-settled comfortably against his master's shoulder, not concerning at all over propriety.

Arthur clears his throat, a little embarrassed.

\- "He can't sleep laying down ... his ribs", he says gruffly. "He will slow us if he is too tired to walk on his own, tomorrow. Percival may well have the strength of three men, he can not carry him forever."

\- "I see."

Gwaine fails to hide the amused sparkle in his eyes.

\- "Good night, sire", he says, patting shortly Arthur's right shoulder.

The prince does not answer, his eyes still staring at the old woman sitting by the fire.

Lancelot and Percival have gone to bed too. Sir Leon keeps watch under the foliage of the dark trees, hazed by the full moon's blue light.

Guinevere smiles to Finna.

\- "Do you want to share a blanket with me?" she offers.

The old woman looks at her for a moment in silence, her wrinkled face full of tenderness, then she reaches out and brushes off a brown curl on the forehead of the girl.

\- "Thank you, my child", she says softly. "Thank you, Guinevere, daughter of a blacksmith, first gown to hold the power of a sword. _Forsaken sister, becoming mother, born a servant and gone a queen, there was none and will never be another woman like you. Twice will your heart be shattered, but in grace you shall stand, for your love is what binds your people_."

Guinevere shudders, but she does not push the old hand stroking her hair. Her almond eyes, fascinated, drink the strange words of the stranger whispering under the stars.

\- "_When the dragon draws his last breath and burning heavens shed rain and blood, the tears of the King will fall and never end. Then on your shoulders will rest the fate of Albion. Fear not, for the kingdom engraved in your heart will remain united as long as your daughters sit on the throne_."

\- "What ... how do I know? What ... what do I do? That d-do you mean?" Guinevere breathes, trembling despite the heat of the nearby fire.

Deep inside her body, something tears apart listening to the words of the old woman.

_Something very sad._

_Very beautiful._

_Infinite._

_So fragile._

Finna smiles again and tears shine in her clear blue eyes.

\- "Do not be afraid, child. You will not be alone."

She strokes one last time the girl's curly hair, then stands up, comes to Arthur and slowly, with a deep, almost _palpable_ respect, puts one knee to the earth and bows to him.

When she gets up again, she gives one last devoted look to Merlin who's still sleeping, then she disappears between the trees, like a ghost.

Arthur shares a glance of incomprehension with Sir Leon.

The embers sizzle in the warm summer night. All the others are asleep, except Guinevere who's crying, watching the ashes, so silent and so still that they do not notice. Maybe they have dreamed this moment, maybe the old woman was never there.

At dawn, none of them talks about the visitor, but everyone remembers her mysterious words.

They cross the mountain pass around noon and begin their descent towards the kingdom where they will find refuge.

_"Tomorrow night will see the end of your journey."_

How Finna guessed, they do not know, but when the sun sparkles like diamonds on the river bed which is the border between Camelot and Nemeth, they meet a patrol of King Rodor's knights.

* * *

**_TBC_**

* * *

**_Wasn't Finna totally creepy ? Sorry..._**

**_Next chapter : A fun misunderstanding leads to a sweet acknowledgment... KITTENS are all over the place!... we're meeting someone we all love I'm sure... angsty Arthur grows up a bit more into that future king we admire... and more fun and fluff and crying.  
_**

**_Major changes from the storyline of the series will only get us closer to the cannon..._**

**_Hopefully, we'll get to know what happened to Morgana during the past week._**

**_And, well, if this next chapter is named "Long Live the King", don't read it during your lunch break. Just a word of advice. ^^  
_**

**_But it could be that there's still a chapter before the wrapping of this arc (this fic just does whatever it wants, I have no control over it... *sic*)_**

**_(I _do_ know where we're heading and the last 5 sentences of the story are already written : just to let you know in case you were worrried I'd let you down sometimes.)_**


	14. Words to dare say

** WORDS TO DARE SAY**

* * *

When he opens his eyes, Arthur heaves a contented sigh before realizing he does not know at all where he is.

He feels clean, is wearing a fresh linen shirt, lying in light sheets smelling of lavender. When he runs a hand through his hair, absent-mindedly, he finds it smooth. His muscles are rested, the wound in his thigh soothed and only throbbing distantly, fatigue and fever from the past days gone.

This room is bright, taut with sandy brocade curtains and the sun streams through the open windows, warming the wooden table on which are stacked neatly folded clothes, next to an ewer and a silver cup.

He props himself up against the soft embroidered pillows, savoring the comforting feeling for a few minutes ... before remembering that he is on the run, Camelot has fallen, his father is a prisoner and his sister has betrayed them.

His eyes darken, his gaze search for his sword and someone knocks on the door.

\- "Come in", answers Arthur with a frown.

He was expecting to see Gaius or Merlin, or perhaps Sir Leon with an explanation on how he got to this room, but it's a short gray-haired man who enters, dressed in a sober but elegant dark blue surcoat. He smiles at the prince and comes to the bed serenely, his hands in his back. He has weathered features, a bushy mustache and the cozy padding of a man who enjoys good food and spends more time in councils than on the training grounds.

\- "Hello, Arthur", he says pleasantly. "Welcome to Nemeth."

The prince sits up when he recognizes him and tries to get off the bed.

\- "Your Majesty. Let me ..."

King Rodor gestures to put an end to unnecessary formalities.

\- "Don't, Arthur, you're still recovering from your injury. I know what an ordeal you've been through", he says in a more serious tone. "Your knights gave me a detailed report. It is a tragedy and my heart bleeds for my old friend Uther Pendragon. Of course, you will have my full support to reclaim your lost citadel."

The young man nods with gratitude.

\- "I'm sorry we meet again in these circumstances ..." he mutters darkly. "So many lives were and will be lost because of Cenred ... and my sisters."

Rodor reaches out and paternally pats the prince's shoulder.

\- "Take heart. And have some rest, I'll fetch the physician, tell him you're awake. He only left your chambers for a moment. You've been sleeping for three days, you know."

Arthur pulls a face.

\- "_Three days_! What a waste of time ..."

The king chuckles kindly.

\- "No, actually, on the contrary. You'd never been able to fight and regain your kingdom in the state you where in upon your arrival. And your men may be brave like lions, they were exhausted at the time."

He joins his hands again in his back.

\- "If the physician deems you well enough to be up, will you dine with us tonight?"

Arthur nods politely.

\- "It will be my pleasure."

\- "Your knights will share our table, of course", the king continues obligingly. "I've seldom met a man as intelligent and dedicated as this young Lancelot. As for the others, any ruler would be fortunate to have them in the ranks of his army."

The prince beams, even though he knows he should correct immediately Rodor's assumptions.

His company is composed of a _only one_ knight - the rest being the patchwork of a physician, two servants and three tramps. All with unwavering loyalty to him. All equally precious to him.

\- "Thank you, Your Majesty. Camelot is indebted to you and we will not forget about your kindness."

Rodor's round face shows his compassion.

\- "No need to mention it. You would have done the same for Nemeth."

He looks like he's trying to find something to say to cheer up Arthur and his face brightens up suddenly.

\- "Oh! How unmindful of me, I was forgetting to tell you. You'll be pleased to learn your young brother is doing a lot better too. Mithian _adores_ him and I have to say the whole castle is smitten by his good nature."

He nods thoughtfully.

\- "Whilst he might be pitied over his daughters' deeds, Uther Pendragon was certainly blessed with his sons' hearts. I'm glad you seem to share such a bond with the lad, despite his… condition. I can understand why a man as proud as your father would not bring him forward in Court, but I found myself rather pleased that you don't show the same distance. If I may ask, is he the son of a courtesan? He looks a lot like your sister Morganaa, so I … "

He pauses at the prince's bewildered stare.

\- "What "brother"?"

\- "Well, _Merlin_, of course!" exclaims Rodor agreeably. Then his eyes widen with surprise. "Is he _not_? He's been begging all the time to be allowed to see "Arthur"! I mean, familiarity with a _Pendragon_ … and the care the others of your party have for him let me think he was ... important ..."

A fond smile creeps on Arthur's face.

\- "Oh, he _is_ important", he snorts. "But he's not my brother, he's my _manservant_. I ... I guess he is - a bit - like a younger _brother_", he adds after a thought.

And it feels like saying these words - _and _why_ on Earth did he say them now, here, to a man he barely knows?_ – takes away an invisible weight in his chest.

The king's look is indecipherable.

\- "I'm sorry for the confusion", says the prince softly. "Sir Leon is the only one in my escort who's of noble blood. Merlin is Gaius' grand-son and the others are commoners."

Genuine deep blue eyes lock with Rodor's patient gaze.

\- "There're my _friends_. They're brave, loyal, humble and each of them would give his life for Camelot", he continues earnestly.

_And I don't care what people think. I won't deny them. They are worthy to sit at the table of a king._

The man tilts his head to the side again and smiles kindly.

\- "Oh, there's no need to complete your thought aloud, Arthur", he says. "I understand, probably more than you can imagine. My best friend was a stable boy, when I was your age. The man was born following the knights' code."

Arthur hesitates.

\- "What happened to him?"

\- "An arrow, during a siege. Loyalty goes along with sacrifice, for such noble souls."

The king takes a few steps toward the door, then turns around one last time.

\- "May I ask you something, Arthur?"

The prince signs yes.

\- "Does he _know_? Merlin. Does he know how important he is? Did you tell him?"

Arthur shakes his head and darkens.

\- "No", he replies huskily. "It's not ... it's not something I can tell him. It wouldn't be fair…. and it'd be dangerous ... And my father..."

_If his father had heard what he said earlier, he would have banished Merlin beyond the Great Seas of Meredor before the end of this conversation._

King Rodor nods.

\- "I understand", he repeats. "But… Arthur, do not wait until death scythes him away to acknowledge this selfless friendship. Life is short and age will teach you that fidelity can be paid for, but devotion can never be bought. You're a fortunate man to have won the heart of these people.. and you will be a wise leader if you honor them."

The king of Nemeth takes his leave after these words and Arthur contemplates the wooden door for a long time after he's gone.

_Someday ... when they will be back in Camelot ... when his father will have given up getting rid of Merlin ... when the world will be a better and fairest place ..._

_When he is king..._

Then he will remember Rodor's words.

For now, he buries them deep within his heart and smiles warmly at Gaius when he comes back. The old man checks the wound and tells the prince he could not be more pleased with the progress of his recovery. Later, Lancelot and Sir Leon show up in the chambers, both rested, refreshed and dressed almost identically with tunics of good fabric lent by the captain of the guard. They have maps with them, but the physician forbids them to lay the scrolls on the table and to start talking the prince into battle plans.

Then Gwaine pops up, flashing his cheeky smile and with a daisy at the corner of his lips, followed almost immediately by Percival and Merlin who lets out a cry of joy on seeing Arthur awake and who almost climbs on the bed in his exuberant glee.

Arthur is glad to see everyone is fine, even if all the fuss makes him a little dizzy. Gaius shoos them out after one hour and the prince goes back to sleep gratefully. By late afternoon, he feels strong enough to go outside and accepts the physician's help to get dressed. Merlin – now, this is odd - is nowhere to be found. The old man smiles enigmatically: apparently the prince has a _serious rival_.

With the help of Gaius and a cane, Arthur hobbles down the stairs to the gardens. Before he's even there, he can hear Gwaine's guffawing and Merlin's uncontrollable giggles. He steps under an ivy interlaced arcade, finds himself walking on round slabs across a thick emerald lawn. The courtyard is much bigger than he expected: a large crooked oak shades it, clawing its strong gnarled roots into the ground. A luxuriant tangle of roses climb and cascade on the blond old stones. There is even a pond with water lilies, surrounded by thick green shrubs, the rich scent of honey and myrtles in the soft warmth of the evening.

A ray of golden sunshine tickles his cheek when he sits on the bench at the foot of the tower. Under the oak, Lancelot and Guinevere are reading a book together, probably holding hands behind a fold of the blanket on which they are seated. Their two heads are so close to each other the loosen tendrils of hair on the girl's forehead almost brush against the young man's bangs. Percival and Gwaine are playing ball with a bundle of cloth - and the giant hopping on site is wearing a beige surcoat a little too small for him, whilst his friend is swinging to and fro in a leather jacket a little too big for him.

And then there is ...

_Merlin_, his dark hair tousled, sparkling blue eyes matching his cobalt tunic, a ribbon to which is attached a cork dangling from his arm, chased after by - _Arthur should have guessed_ – an exhilarated black kitten.

_And someone else._ A cream silk dress twirling graciously, long glossy raven curls flecked by pearls and tiny white flowers, cheeks glowing pink with the excitement of the game, a swirl of innocent giggles.

\- "Arthur!" whoops his manservant when he turns and sees his master.

He picks up the kitten and runs to the prince who braces himself for yet another meet-my-new-best-friend-the-cat moment.

To his surprise, the young person he does not know follows closely.

On the bench beside him, Gaius hides a smirk.

\- "Arthur, you're up!" chirps the boy. "Does it still hurt? Do you want something? I can fetch you a drink, the kitchens are very close."

The prince shakes his head, charitably pats the head of the kitten struggling in Merlin's arms.

\- "I'm fine. Let go of the poor creature who did nothing to you, _Mer_lin. You loathe hunting, but I think deers are much happier to be put down by one swift arrow, rather than tortured with cuddles for hours like your cats."

\- "I think both parties benefit in here", says an amused voice. "If they hated it this much, they would disappear, the castle is huge."

Arthur looks up and in the sun haze, he meets a diamond-shaped face, big amber eyes shaded by long eyelashes, dark eyebrows arched ironically, roseate lips curling into a mischievous smile.

\- "Good evening, Your Highness", curtseys the girl. "I am delighted to see your health is better."

\- "This is Mithian", tweets in Merlin, proudly. "She's a _real_ princess."

\- "Obviously", gasps Arthur after a good fifteen seconds pause.

Then he frowns and blushes furiously, turning his head away - which does not help because his eyes fall on Gaius whose shoulders are wriggling with totally inappropriate silent laughter.

It is really _hot_ for a summer evening.

\- "Mithian has _tons_ of cats", twitters a delighted Merlin. "She also owns a crossbow and Sir Leon said she has a keen eye and she beat Gwaine in a horserace."

\- "I see you've had a good time during these three days", scoffs the prince, staring at the tips of his boots.

He jumps when she crouches down suddenly, her cream dress sprawling around her in the lush grass, and looks into his eyes very seriously.

\- "We were anxiously waiting for you to wake up", she says firmly. "But these few days off were important to lift the spirits of your men, before the time of fighting would resume. Getting back Camelot will not be easy."

Arthur swallows.

_It may be because Mithian's words make sense._

_Or perhaps because her tightly laced corsage gives very suggestive cleavage._

He looks up and sees that Percival and Gwaine are now approaching. Under the oak, Lancelot has closed the book and Guinevere is rolling the blanket.

Merlin frees the kitten and leans to help his master up.

\- "Come, Sire. We'll show you what we've done while you were snoring."

It is Gaius who supports Arthur, in the end, for the servant's ribs are not yet strong enough to be used as a crutch for a man of the prince's built. Mithian follows them without a word to the room where the Camelot refugees have established their headquarters, and where they find Sir Leon who welcomes the son of his king with a broad smile.

Three days he slept.

In three days they drew the access points of the citadel, pulled bits of wool on the maps, planted daggers at key locations, gathered chain mail coats of their sizes, polished their helmets and sharpened their swords. They know which horses will take them to the battlefield, they met those who will face the enemy at their side, have trained with them. They are only waiting for their lord's orders.

Arthur nods approvingly, a lump in his throat.

_Loyal, humble, organized._

_These are his people._

\- "For the love of Camelot", he says with a croaked smile.

\- "For the love of Camelot", they answer without hesitation, standing around him.

Somewhere, mingled with the deep pitch of the men, he hears two female voices.

Three more days pass at the speed of light and it's already time to leave. Arthur got so used to the pace of their life in Nemeth, it feels like he always had lunch with King Rodor, discussing with him like it has never been possible with his own father; always sparred on the training ground in the midst of simple men who volunteered for the Camelot rescue mission; always spent his evenings in the garden, sitting on the bench whilst listening to Merlin's giggles as he plays with the cats and Mithian's cream dress sweeps on the lawn.

Guinevere and Lancelot timidly approached him, the first night he was up, after dinner. He did not need to hear what they had to say to understand. He reached out, friendly squeezed his friend's shoulder, smiled at the maid who lowered her eyes, gave his blessing and promised he would bring the best wine of Camelot at their wedding - when they would be home again.

\- "Are you upset?" Merlin asked while helping him to undress for the night.

Arthur shook his head - and dispelled the last twinge inside him, like a strand of wool drowning in water.

\- "A man must know when to step aside", he replied. "Guinevere deserves to be happy and I'm not ... not ready. Not strong enough to confront my father and marry a maid ... not passionate enough either. I ..."

He pondered about it, tried to be as honest as possible.

\- "I _do_ love her, I think. But not like him. Not to the point I'd sacrifice everything for her. Not _enough_."

Merlin nibbled his lips.

\- "And then ... she likes you, but not as a husband. It's because you're a bore."

Arthur threw a pillow at him, but he felt his heart lighter after this.

The day before they left for Camelot, he went to the ramparts to fill his lungs with fresh air and contemplate the beautiful view. The sparkling river at the bottom of the plain of Nemeth, the mountains of Asgorath with the setting sun glowing on their ridges, the wheat fields and green forests, this country bathed in peace and wealth just on the edge of Camelot torn by war.

He did not notice her leaning on the crenels next to him until that blasted kitten came to rub against his elbow, purring.

\- "Merlin, what did I say about ..." he exclaimed, turning, and then the words crumbled on his tongue when he saw it was not his manservant.

The princess smiled, propping her cheek in her palm, looking at him with amusement.

\- "He's in the armory where you sent him earlier", she said.

The black kitten staggered on the stone ledge and Arthur vaguely scratched it under the chin to give himself countenance. The evening breeze bristled the blond wisps on his nape.

\- "What are you looking at?" Mithian asked very gently, very seriously.

\- "I'm thinking about Camelot", replied the prince slowly. "About my people who will be caught again in the fighting. About my father ... I don't know if he's still alive. About ... my sisters. _My sister_. Morganaa."

He snorted bitterly.

\- "I don't understand. I didn't get it when I saw it and I _still_ don't understand. Why she ... _why_ did she have to betray us, to throw the kingdom into the hands of Cenred..."

He inhaled deeply.

\- "Perhaps it would have been easier if she'd tried to kill our father on the first day. _I_ tried. ... It helped with my anger, even if didn't solve anything."

\- "Did you forgive him? Your father. I ... I mean, I don't know what caused this hatred, but it seems to me ... I, well, for _me_, my father is ... well, it's not - _possible_ to be happy with such a ... such a ..."

Arthur took some time to look at the features of the young woman concentrating to choose the right words.

\- "It's not surprising you get along so well with Merlin", he finally whispered. "That's what he said too... the fool. My father despises him, and yet ... Merlin tried to save his life. He would do it again if necessary."

Mithian smiled softly.

\- "It is for you, Arthur. It is _for you_ that he does it all."

The prince shrugged.

\- "Why?"

The night was falling and when he turned his head toward her, her eyes shone in the darkness and the breeze stirred her long raven curls.

\- "Because one day you will be a great king. Because he knows it. And because he loves you. This is your strength, Arthur. It is the same for each of your men here, for those of our soldiers who have stepped forward to be part of the forces that will deliver Camelot. You know how to draw people together for a cause greater than their selfish goals, you ignite in them the desire to live, to stand up and fight. You were born to lead and to bring peace - not only to your country but beyond the borders of Camelot until the five kingdoms are one."

And to that, he replied nothing because he did not what to say.

Because he did not _dare_ to believe it.

Mithian picked up the little cat and snuggled it in her arms.

\- "My heart will be with you tomorrow and in the coming days, Your Majesty. Don't get hurt."

He smiled – sincerely, this time.

\- "I'll do my best. This is war, Princess."

She nodded, curtseyed, stepped aside and spinned back to him suddenly.

\- "When ... when Camelot's yours again, when the realm's at peace... could you ...would you ... will you come back to Nemeth?"

Arthur shook his head.

\- "Probably not before months - perhaps more than a year. We'll need to rebuild, there'll be a lot of work to do and ..."

She interrupted.

\- "So ... can _I _come to Camelot?"

She looked almost pleading. He smiled again, reached out and patted the tiny ears of the kitten.

\- "You'll be welcome to", he said kindly, easily. "Merlin will have no rest 'til you've seen each of the _hundreds_ of cats that are his friends. And my father will be quite pleased to meet you. I'll take you on a hunting trip this time. I'm sure my crossbow skills are a match to yours ... "

He did not add: "and I will miss you. You, your father, the garden blossoming with roses. These three days when I could be true to myself even though the world had collapsed around me. Thank you, Mithian", but maybe she understood because she smiled and took the arm he offered her to go down the stairs.

At dawn the next day, when the riders depart through the lower town, a long column of Nemeth's green cloaks and Camelot's red tunics, the king turns to his daughter and notices the tears clinging to her long lashes.

\- "You fear for their lives, my child", he says softly.

Mithian shakes her head, tightening her lips and frowning.

\- "If I were a man, I could go and fight with them", she whispers.

\- "A battlefield is no place for a woman", gently scolds Rodor, placing his arms on the fragile shoulders of his daughter.

\- "_Guinevere_ is with them", argues the princess in a muffled voice.

The king sighs, then nods thoughtfully.

\- "Guinevere is _different_. There is a strength in her, which is not that of an ordinary girl. Like ... I don't know. Don't compare yourself to her, Mithian. Your destinies have nothing in common."

Yet their paths have already crossed and it will happen again.

Like the mirror reflection of two stars blending together in a pond when one's throws in it a coin.

* * *

oOoOoOo

* * *

Arthur gives a last glance to the celestial vault studded with a billion gleaming diamonds and goes back to the center of the large room, in the castle in ruins where they established their quarters for the last night before the attack on the citadel.

The Nemeth soldiers have settled in the floor below and they hear their distant voices and the quiet rattle of their mail coats.

\- "Do you think they can see the smoke from Camelot?" Merlin asks, putting a log in the fireplace.

\- "If it's the case, I hope it gives them the creeps", grunts Gwaine.

Gaius is checking his medical supplies next to a massive pillar. Arthur raises an eyebrow, intrigued, pulls the dusty cloth covering the table in the middle of the room, and contemplates the round surface engraved with runes.

\- " Here! Come and join me", he calls.

They obey, sit around the table, their interrogative eyes staring at him.

He smiles.

\- "This table belonged to the ancient kings of Camelot ", he says. " A round table afforded no one man more importance than any other. I once asked Balinor why a society who hated the privileges of nobility had chosen such a pompous name as _Dragonlords_. He said the ancient kings, who lived in the days when beasts of fire walked among men, believed in equality in all things."

They listen carefully as he speaks.

The night is solemn.

_All different, all equal._

_Arthur, Merlin, Guinevere, Lancelot, Percival, Sir Leon, Gaius, Gwaine._

_A prince, a servant, a woman, a literary man, a brawny farmer, a very proper knight, a scientist, a tramp with a generous heart._

Like a sample of mankind.

_With their weaknesses and their faults._

_With their strengths and hopes._

_Together._

It is time.

Arthur takes a deep breath.

\- "Without each of you, I would not be here. I ... I am proud to build the world with you all."

He turns to his left.

\- "Lancelot, you taught me the values of a knight had nothing to do with a title. That a man should fight with honor for justice, freedom, and all that's good. _Thank you_."

His eyes gently smile at the woman sitting next to his friend.

\- "Guinevere, you made me look at who I really was and showed me how to choose who I wanted to become. _Thank you_."

His gaze moves next to the blond knight.

\- "Leon, you fought for my father, for Camelot and for me. It will be an honor to fight alongside you as equals. _Thank you_."

The chair creaks when the bearded young man squirms to hide his emotion.

\- "Gwaine, you taught me there's always hope as long as we can still get up – and that a tankard of mead shared with a friend is worth more than a pile of gold coins. _Thank you_."

The giant does nothing to hide his own tears.

\- "Percival, the strongest man in the world - and the most humble. You're always there for your friends, no matter what. _Thank you_."

Arthur leans to lock eyes with the old man who doesn't dare lifting his hoary head.

\- "Gaius, if the gods allow me to reach your age someday, I wish I can look back, then, and see I have served my people tirelessly, as you did. _Thank you_."

Everyone's sniffing, more or less discreetly, and the prince himself feels the moist in his eyes.

He squares his shoulders in his chainmail coat and turns to his right.

The cobalt orbs are there, looking up at him, radiating with pride.

\- "Merlin ..."

He does not get to finish his sentence.

\- "Thank_ you_", whispers the boy.

And there is nothing to answer to this, so the prince quickly shoves his sleeve under his nose and lets go of a strangled chuckle.

\- "I'll do something that my father won't approve of", he announces. "But the people will deem it right."

And in front of the hearth where a clear fire burns high, he makes Lancelot, Gwaine and Percival _Knights of Camelot_.

A world had ended and it is the birth of a new one.

* * *

**_TBC_**

* * *

**_Now. Brace yourself, for what's coming won't be pretty._**

**_Next chapter : LONG LIVE THE KING_**


	15. Long Live The King

** LONG LIVE THE KING**

* * *

The plan is simple.

They infiltrate the citadel in small groups - some with merchants in early morning, others through the secret passage that leads to the armory, and finally some using the garbage ducts (that's an idea of Merlin and Arthur almost wishes his servant to be part of the squad so he could _smell_ the result of his suggestion).

The remaining forces remain hidden away in the woods and will attack when the warning bell will sound.

_First, find the king._

_Second, free the knights._

_And last, kill Cenred._

The enemy's army is composed almost exclusively of mercenaries: if the one who pays them is dead, they will disperse without even trying to resist. King Rodor estimated the recovery operation should not last more than a day, provided they'd capture the usurper by noon.

Arthur hopes the noblemen who live in the citadel will quickly join into the rebellion - assuming they have not been executed, Leon reminds him darkly. For a moment, the prince feels a chill running down his spine, remembering the young wife of the knight was among them - _and, oh gods, how could Sir Leon bear this anguish for almost two weeks and take the prince to safety knowing she stayed back at the hands of evil?_ – then the blond man reassures him.

\- "Don't apologize, your Highness. I never had to make such a terrible choice. We found out last month Eirian was with child, so she was long gone to her father's estate in the west before Camelot was attacked. She's safe."

Congratulations will be in order after the battle.

Meanwhile, Arthur sneaks in the hallways to the dungeons. Gwaine's and Percival's units put the guards out of harm's way quickly and quietly, then free the knights and hand them weapons. Sir Leon finds the key to the most secured jail and the prince rushes inside as soon as the door is open.

Uther is chained, dressed in a shabby shirt. He is pale and his eyes are haunted, but he is alive and he recognizes his son when he kneels before him. Something sparks up in his brown eyes and he rises to his feet, swings his arm around Arthur's shoulders and they head to the armory.

It is from there that things go wrong.

Lancelot's team failed to reach the warning bell on time and suddenly the alarm resounds wildly. The mercenaries are deployed and the corridors become a battlefield. Servants are fleeing in all directions, screaming, the rooms are ransacked, deafening clatters of swords echo all over the place, and the cavalcade of horses fills up the main street of Camelot.

Arthur wants to take his father to safety, but he finds himself pushed into a spiral staircase.

\- "Over here", growls Uther weighing on him to take the opposite direction.

The prince fights with one hand and lets the king lead them through the corridors without really realizing where he wants to go, before they find themselves cornered in the throne room.

Lancelot and his team are already there, furiously confronting the guards protecting Cenred and Morgause standing on the platform near the majestic armchair.

Blood is dripping from a wound on Lancelot's temple, he falls on one knee and weakly parries the strikes of two mercenaries. Arthur leaves his father behind a pillar to jump to the rescue. From the corner of his eye, he sees Morgause's crimson gown, her naked shoulders, this indecent sleeve with the ribbon on her bare skin, like a black lace snake. The young woman is armed and fights a soldier of Nemeth, her blond mane rippling in the morning sun.

_Beautiful and dangerous. Terribly dangerous._

A steel grinding is followed by a shooting pain in his shoulder, and Arthur sees the great hall waver under his horrified eyes. His ears are ringing, he hears from afar a sardonic laugh and suddenly Cenred is standing in front of him, dressed in a black velvet surcoat, with his greasy hair and his leering eyes.

Everything is deadly quiet.

_He is going to die._

_Here, now._

_Failing to save his kingdom and his father._

For a second, the scent of roses like an infinite regret floats around him...

Then a figure looms between him and Cenred.

Arthur shakes his head to clear his thoughts and the din of battle comes back in a stroke, hurling against his eardrums like the sound of a waterfall.

He catches sight of Lancelot's face, smeared with blood, a hand tugs up his sword in his numb fingers, an adrenaline flow erupts suddenly in his veins and he is back.

At the foot of the throne, Uther Pendragon is engaged in single combat against Cenred.

Arthur wants to rush to him and take his place, but other mercenaries are coming and he can only keep fighting. He glimpses Percival charging in the hall and a few minutes later - _or was it hours?_ \- he spots the giant struggling with Morgause.

The young woman slays the mail coat of the brawny man and silver rings scatter in a sunbeam.

Percival winces, but he does not take a step back and disarms Arthur's sister before twisting her arms in her back.

She hisses and curses, but she can not escape him, her blonde curls falling on her face contorted with rage, her red dress shaken by her efforts to break free.

Under the Gothic ceiling, the two men walk in a circle, watching each other. One is young and healthy, the other weakened by captivity and the poison distilled in his body during weeks, but where Cenred sees only a challenge, Uther knows he's playing his last card to save Camelot.

_And his son._

His sweat sprays shining around him when he moves swiftly, he does not feel fatigue or pain, and the blood from his groin injury is running down his leg, dark on the black fabric of his breeches.

Hatred fills his lungs, he is befuddled by the desire of revenge and the certainty that if he loses the fight, Arthur will not be spared.

When he sees an opening, he does not pause for a tick.

\- "You have no right to this throne!"

_He is feared, he is respected, he is standing. He is the king of Camelot._

The warning bell resounds loudly throughout the city.

Uther withdraws his sword sharply and Cenred collapses, eyes bulging, gasping for air, his hands clutched on his guts. Morgause lets out an angry scream like a wounded wyvern and everyone turns their heads in their direction.

Cenred falls to his knees, then his gray face kisses the wooden floor. A scarlet pond oozes under his prostrated body.

The mercenaries in red and black change their stance, one by one then ten by ten and suddenly it's a stampede. They flee in all directions, wielding their swords to make their way to the exit.

These are not soldiers or knights. They will not be paid now their leader is dead and have nothing to protect, if not for their lives and their freedom.

Lancelot and his men rush after them.

Soon, the throne room is empty and only remain Percival still holdind Morgause, Uther standing in the sun streaming in through the broad windows and Arthur coming to the corpse to check it is really over.

With a sinister clank, the king's sword falls on the wooden floor and in the silence of the large room, Morgause squawks when Uther staggers and slumps to the floor.

\- "FATHER!" Arthur shouts, rushing to catch him up. "Guards! Help! The king ..."

His voice chokes as he probes the shirt so shabby compared to the august clothes the monarch wore all his life.

Uther coughs and sputters, his hand grabs the sleeve of his son and his eyes flicker open, a sheen of sweat on his forehead, his mouth contorted in pain.

\- "Ar'th'r ..."

The hands of the prince are slick with blood, sticky and hot and so clumsy, oh so useless. He can not even find the fatal injury, blinded by his own tears.

Somewhere behind him, Morgause's demented cackle makes him feel dizzy.

\- "Father, Father ... guards! Percival, _someone_ ... GUARDS! Gaius ... oh, Father ..."

He cradles the nape of the man who weighs against him, getting increasingly weaker, strokes the iron-gray hair, the rough cheek of the father who never had a gesture of affection for him.

\- "Don't leave me", he begs. "The kingdom needs you ..."

Uther grimaces a smile, still gripping the forearm of the young man.

\- "The kingdom ... has ... a king, Arthur ... A good king ... who ... won't let… the people down ..."

Arthur is choking.

\- "No… no ..."

The dark eyes of his father narrow sternly.

\- "Don't... make me ...ashamed ... Arthur ..."

There are noises around them, shadows, rustling - and somewhere the battle cries and metal clatters and the baneful song of the bells. The sun gleams on the prince's chain mail coat and the steel manacles on the king's wrists.

The young man swallows his tears and blinks to clear his eyelashes, his jaw trembling with the effort.

\- "I'll make you proud", he swears under his breath.

Uther contemplates him for a moment, as appeased.

A trickle of blood is running down his chin.

He reaches out and touches his son's forehead, tidies a sticky blond wick behind Arthur's ear. His lips are discolored and the blood gushing from his injury seeps on the wooden floor, blending with Cenred's.

\- "I know… I have … not been ... ... a good father ... I put my … duty to Camelot ... first ..."

\- "Don't say that", pleads the prince in a pathetic and stifled voice.

\- "I loved… you ..." pants the man whose chest heaves erratically. "I loved ... you all ... my… three… chil…dren ..."

He suddenly jolts, his eyes roll in their sockets and his head falls backwards as his hand tumbles down, limp.

Arthur blurts out a childish moan, a small broken sound, lonely and discordant in the huge throne room.

\- "Father ..."

He closes his eyes, hugs the lifeless body of the king, burying his face in the shoulder on which he was never allowed to rest.

His back is shaken by silent sobs.

Outside, the clamor declined a bit. The sun pours into the room through the high windows, red and golden, royal and beautiful.

Gwaine barges inside the great hall.

\- "Sire! The mercenaries are running away destroying everything in their path and there's fire in the north wing!" he bawls. "You have to ... come ..."

His gaze falls on the scene and his sentence ends in an appalled gurgling. His brown eyes meet those of Percival who's gagging Morgause with one hand and twisting her wrists in her back with the other.

Sir Leon scrambles in and opens horrified eyes under his messy blond curls. He steps towards Arthur, hesitates, clasping a hand over his mouth as if he dared not breaking into the moment, and clears his throat.

\- "Sire. We _need_ you", he says hoarsely.

At first, the prince does not move, does not seem to have heard him. Then he slowly lowers the king's body to the wooden floor and slides his hand over the face of his father to close his eyelids.

He picks up his sword, slowly stands up and his blue eyes are so dark they were almost black when he speaks at last.

\- "I'm coming", he says in a dreary voice.

His steps are heavy and his broad shoulders fill the front door when he sets off after the fugitives.

The sun of late afternoon slips into the hallways when the crippled city can finally tend to its wounds. Smoke rises from the towers of the castle and in the streets. Everywhere there are casualties, tears of gratitude and dramatic reunions, women crying on her knees in the gutter that carries blood, straw and dented helmets. Children come out of hiding, running towards their parents through the rubble, filthy and exhausted men smile at girls carrying buckets of water and bandages. The knights are putting behind bars the last mercenaries.

The bells are still resounding, but they are now telling the battle is finally over.

_Camelot is free._

_And the king is dead._

In the royal chambers, Arthur lays the body of his father on the bed, then steps back and makes room for Gaius. The old physician swallows his emotion with difficulty when he confirms the death and covers Uther Pendragon with a white sheet.

Tears stream down Guinevere's face in the corner of the room where she stands with the knights. Lancelot, his arm in a sling, Percival and Sir Leon bow their heads in silence. Gwaine is looking for Merlin. The manservant arrived earlier with his grandfather and the young woman, and despite his sense of duty to the many people injured, he kept wanting to go in search of Arthur.

_Ah. Here he is._

_A few steps behind the prince, somewhat hidden by the bed's canopy. Tall and skinny and as still as one of the wooden posts._

His blue eyes filled with tears stare at Arthur with intensity, as if he dearly wished but didn't dare to come closer and touch his master, to ensure he will not suddenly crumble and disappear, swallowed up by his father's death.

The prince's shoulders twitch.

\- "Leave me alone."

Gaius bows and leaves the room after giving him a last sympathetic look. The knights and Guinevere do the same but Gwaine stops on the doorstep.

\- "You too, Merlin", Arthur says softly, not turning his head.

The boy shakes his chin.

\- "No", he croaks with effort.

\- "_Please_", Arthur whispers in a barely inaudible voice.

Gwaine swallows – his saliva burns in his throat - and crosses the room to take the manservant's arm and gently pull him toward the exit. Merlin does not struggle, but his eyes are not leaving the prince and when the door shuts, he slumps to the ground and refuses to move.

Gaius beckons the others to leave him alone. There are so many things to do.

When night falls, a few hours later, Arthur comes out of the room, pale but his face dry. Merlin stands up right away when he hears the creaking of the latch and anxiously scans his master's expression.

\- "Come on", says the prince. "We have work to do."

Torches are burning with a grim smog, in the justice hall where are gathered the knights and the nobles, the servants and the soldiers of Nemeth.

Each site manager - Lancelot has organized them perfectly with the help of Geoffrey of Monmouth who's wearing a bandage on his bald head but was fortunately spared when the advisors were executed after the siege of Camelot - comes forward and explain to Arthur how things are doing for his part.

The city is in ruins, people need care, blankets, food, to be protected from looters and fleeing enemies. They must determine who were traitors and who acted under constrict, and who ...

Arthur does not flinch when the knights bring in his shackled half-sister.

\- "Brother", she sneers.

\- "Morgause Gorlois, wife of the late King Cenred, you stand before us accused of crimes that can not be forgiven", gravely announces Geoffrey of Monmouth, his old face drawn with sadness. "You have corrupted the lady Morgana, plotted to overthrow the throne of Camelot, poisoned your father. There is no excuse for your choices and only death can punish your felony."

The young woman sniggers and all those present shudder at her icy gaze. Her pale eyes lock with Arthur's, filled with venom.

\- "I was _alone_", she says in her voice smooth as the hiss of a viper. "I wanted to be with both of you. I wanted to share your lives, I wanted you to _save_ me, but you ignored my cry. You went away only caring for your grief and you _abandoned_ me."

She articulates every syllable, as if sinking nails in her brother's heart, but he does not quiver.

He no longer sees the woman dressed in a crimson gown who was laughing at Uther's corpse in the great hall, but the blonde teenager who came to challenge him in a black armor, years ago.

\- "My mother gave me to Cenred shortly after I told you the truth about the death of Dame Ygraine, and then she died not finishing what she had started. But I _knew_. This is the fate of girls. To allow alliances, to seal a revenge plot, to turn a weakling into a beast thirsty for power, to please men!

She tilts her head to the side and she spits her words with a psychotic smirk.

\- "Do you know what it's like to feel the heavy breath of a swine on your skin and his weight on your body, _night after night_, just because _someone_, somewhere, decided you were not worthy to be part of his family? Because someone who was supposed to protect you decided you were _just_ a pawn..."

There is madness in those burning eyes, but Arthur still tries, despite the murmurs of disapproval of the council members around him, because the pain pulsating in the words of his sister is stronger than the hatred oozing on her face in shining beads of sweat.

\- "Morgause ... if you repent, I am willing to take in consideration your woes ..."

She laughs insanely, and it's as if a mirror broke into a thousand pieces somewhere in the room.

\- "_Never_", she snarls. "I'll do it again – and again and again and again - I'll try again until the end of times! I want to see the look in his eyes, when his heart is crushed, on the day he ..."

Arthur turns his head away and waves them to take her out.

On the armrests of his chair, his fingers are trembling.

_Is that night ever going to end?_

_Why are the torches burning so dark, so thick, so suffocating?_

He feels like he's drowning.

When they push Morgana in front of him, her long black curls cascading down on her indigo satin gown, her delicate hands cuffed with a coarse rope, he just wants to run to her, to untie her, hug her and tell her that the nightmare is over.

_This is his little sister. His precious, fragile, naive little sister._

But she lifts her beautiful silver eyes and stares at him and despite the traces of childish tears on her cheeks, it is a woman who looks at him.

\- "You _had_ to destroy everything", she says in a biting tone.

\- "Morgana, please", protests the prince. "Tell me you did not approve of these actions! Our _father_, Morgana, the kingdom ..."

She pulls a face, pushes back her wavy black hair and he catches a glimpse of the red mark on her so thin wrist, where the rope burnt her.

\- "Our father", she repeats with irony. "Uther Pendragon, who never cared for anyone but his beloved son. His _heir_."

\- "Morgana, certainly you do not believe the lies of Morgause", desperately cries Arthur. "Father loved you, he would have given his life to save you!"

The girl tilts her head to the side, raising a surprised eyebrow.

\- "Lov_ed_?"

She shrugs after a while, but not fast enough to hide the way the corner of her mouth has curled, like one of a child about to cry.

\- "Well, I meant to spare his life, but he managed to lose it anyway."

The prince sees a glimmer of hope.

\- "See, you didn't agree with their plot, you were trying to save Camelot, you ..."

She chuckles and it sound like an echo of the ghastly sneer of Morgause.

\- "Oh, I don't care about Camelot", she says dismissively. "I will never be queen. And why would I? I never wanted to be here ..."

She bites her lip, like a spoiled little girl.

\- "Was it too hard to let me choose my life? Arthur, would you have prevented our father from selling me to an ally as was the fate of Morgause? Don't say no. You would have complied. It took you _so long_ to oppose your own wedding ..."

The prince runs a weary hand over his face.

\- "What are we doing with her, your highness?" Geoffrey of Monmouth whispers, leaning toward him. "She is of royal blood ... your legitimate sister ..."

_Does Morgause's out of wedlock's birth make her a little less his sister?_

Arthur shakes his head and he almost wants to let go of the same bitter snigger.

_No, of course not._

He just met Morgause, while Morgana has shared all his childhood's games, but he can feel it, though. A link - so thin, almost imperceptible, a corner of his heart moved by something he can't understand, an inexplicable desire to alleviate the raw suffering behind the cruel words.

\- "Sire?"

He painfully comes back to reality, in the stale air of the big hall they're using as courthouse.

He looks around for something, someone to hold on to, but nobody is there. He sent Merlin to Gaius to care for the wounded, the knights are probably trying to track down the last fugitives and to secure the citadel for the night, Guinevere is distributing soup and blankets in the lower town.

He is alone.

\- "Take her away", he finally says. "But don't put her in the dungeons, simply lock her in her chambers. We shall judge her later - when we have gathered witnesses, when things will be clearer."

\- "And Morgause?"

He bites his lips, his throat so dry it hurts.

\- "She's to die tomorrow morning."

Morgana stops and spins on her heels, the two guards who are taking her away tightening their hands instinctively on her arms. Her piercing silver gaze drills into her brother.

\- "If you do this, Arthur, I swear, _I will kill you_."

The prince does not move and nothing of his face betrays his emotion.

_He does not know that right now, he looks exactly like their father._

At dawn, he is still sitting in that armchair, stiff, dirty, exhausted, and the sky may well be resplendent, he sees it through a gray veil.

Yet he does not stumble on his way up to the balcony.

The air is fresh and tingles unpleasantly on his clammy skin smeared with smoke and dirt.

There are only a few people in the courtyard. Nobody he knows, except for a few tired knights and soldiers from Nemeth.

_That's good. The guys must have ensured Guinevere and Merlin would not attend this._

The guards bring out Morgause, still regal in her vermilion brocade gown, a disdainful pout on her aristocratic face.

Behind the window of the tallest tower, Morgana has bitten her lips until blood blobbed out and grinds her perfect pearly teeth.

\- "Morgause Gorlois, for your crimes you are sentenced to death by beheading."

They make her kneel and Morgause puts her chin on the chopping block. The executioner gathers her long blond hair almost gently. The pale eyes of the young woman are blazing and a sardonic smile curls her dainty lips, as if to challenge the prince in believing she is afraid.

_Brother ..._

_Murderer ..._

_Damn you and your precious Camelot ..._

The ax rises high in the clear blue sky. The silence is immense, so heavy.

Arthur nods from the balcony.

He does not close his eyes.

The ax strikes with a sickening crack, crushing Morgause's brittle bones, scrunching in the satin flesh, and a spurt of scarlet drops glistens in the morning light. The head with long golden curls tumbles down the block, the eyes glazed open, while the soft, feminine body collapses like a rag doll.

Morgana shrieks in agony, screeching excruciatingly, her rabid silver irises overly dilated, and her fist bursts through the window. Dozens of glass pieces sparkle down from the tower.

\- "NOOOOOOO!"

The prince has planted his gloved hands on the edge of the balcony and sinked his nails so deeply into the stone they broke despite their leather protection.

Later in the day, they call him to Morgana's chambers to show him the overthrown furniture, the broken mirrors, torn curtains, pillows ripped open, and his heart sinks when he sees the form curled up in a dark corner, shaken by violent sobs, in a mess of shattered glass.

After talking with Gaius and Geoffroy, he writes a letter to his uncle Agravaine, the brother of his mother, and organizes a convoy he asks Sir Leon to lead. The court physician gives a sleeping potion to his little sister who is swinging back and forth with empty eyes, and she is placed in the barricaded steel trolley he had them fill with soft cushions and embroidered blankets.

He stays for a long time on the ramparts, watching Morgana leave for the castle near the sea, hoping she will find some peace in this exile.

Then he goes back to his duty, to his country, to the present, to the place that is his.

He is alone.

So alone.

* * *

oOoOoOo

* * *

The advisors have decided to hold the coronation ceremony the day after the king's funeral and there is so much to do in the meantime.

Not a spare moment to check on Arthur and Merlin _feels_, with every beat of his heart, that he should be with the prince. But there are so many wounds to take care of, so many terrified children to comfort, so many buckets of water to fetch, hardly time to swallow a crust of bread or make sure Gaius rests a little.

It is Guinevere who finally allows him to escape, noticing for the hundredth time the way he jumps whenever the door of the makeshift hospital opens, and the fact he keeps peering through the windows to catch a glimpse of his master passing under the arches across the courtyard.

\- "Go", she says, taking the clean bandages he was about to hang dry.

And Merlin runs up the stairs four at once, a hand clutched on his not yet healed ribs, worry throbbing in his temples as he takes the familiar route to the prince's chambers.

He inhales deeply, wipes his hands on his thighs and pushes the door hesitantly.

\- "Arthur?"

The young man is sitting at his desk, near the window.

The wood surface will soon be covered with reports of all kinds, decrees to sign and seal, treaties to study.

His elbows are on the table, his hands pressed flat in his orbits as to relieve a nagging headache.

\- "You all right?" Merlin asks, approaching slowly.

Arthur doesn't lift his head, only shakes it.

\- "No", he replies in a muffled voice. "My father died, Morgana is gone, never to return, and she hates me ..."

His back is shivering.

\- "... And the first thing I had to do as a regent was to condemn to death my own sister ..."

He buries his face in his hands.

\- "How can I be a good king? With such a beginning, the kingdom's doomed ... I failed ... I should have protected my father ... understood Morgana… convinced Morgause ... they're my little sisters, Merlin ... I should have known ... t 'was my role ... I should have _saved_ them ... saved them all ..."

His voice chokes and Merlin does not think any longer. Spontaneously, his heart heavy in front of this distress, he does one more step and wraps Arthur in his arms.

\- "It's not your fault", he whispers, resting his chin on the blond hair and hugging as tight as he can the shoulders shaking with sobs. "It's not your fault ..."

His open brown jacket hides the prince's face from the world and in this darkness smelling of soap, hawthorn and thyme, Arthurs finally lets his grief overflow as the comforting words continue to shower him with warmth.

\- "It's not your fault ... you will be fine…" Merlin murmurs fervently. "I'm sorry I left you for a while ... I'm here, now ... you're not alone ..."

A smile bubbles up through Arthur's tears.

_Why are these simple words so important?_

And why is it enough to lighten his sorrow that Merlin and the knights are there, somewhere behind the advisors and the nobles gathered in the crypt when they entomb the remains of his father?

Tomorrow will be a new day.

It's time to get up and to put aside the things of the past.

_He is ready._

That evening, in the royal chambers, Merlin washes the grime of the battle from Arthur's body.

Slowly, very slowly, he squeezes the big sponge and rivulets of clear water run down in the back of the prince. He bathes the contours of knotty muscles and scars, rinses the blood, the fatigue, the sadness.

Arthur does not move, his eyes closed.

Merlin softly dabs the damp skin with a clean towel, completely silent. He slides the white linen tunic over the head of his master, laces the neckline methodically.

He drapes the long immaculate cloak on Arthur's broad shoulders and carefully clasps the gold buckle, then comes in front of the prince, puts one knee down, bows his neck respectfully, and offers him his sword.

The young man stands up, sheathes the blade and without a word goes down to the throne room in which he enters alone.

Merlin watches him kneel in the middle of the vast empty hall, bathed in the ethereal glow of the moon, then he pulls the heavy doors to shut them.

When he turns, Lancelot, Gwaine and Percival are here, silent and serious.

Merlin smiles softly.

The next day, when the first rays of dawn fill the hall and the spiral stairs with shimmering tawny light, the four men are still there, keeping a faithful watch.

Arthur opens the doors and their eyes met.

He greets them with a quiet chin gesture and steps out.

Without a word, they don him his armor, securing each steel piece with precise motions. Percival passes the chain mail coat over his head, Lancelot fastens the pauldrons, Gwaine fixes the gauntlets, Merlin clips the new cloak of a deep red fabric, so long it drags on the floor and swells like a wing when the prince climbs the stairs to the balcony.

All Camelot is gathered in the courtyard. Men, women, children, old folks. A huge crowd, so silent one could almost hear the rustling of the frothy clouds fraying in the blue sky above the towers.

A dove flies into the light.

Geoffrey of Monmouth comes to Arthur who knelt down.

He pronounces the sacred words, receives the solemn promise of the young man and sets the crown on his blond hair.

And when Arthur stands up and faces his people, an ardent cry roars, one vibrant song in the whole of Camelot.

\- "LONG LIVE THE KING!"

* * *

**_TBC_**

* * *

**_And that's what happens when so many lovely reviews pile up before the end of the day! *squeals in delight* _**

**_You get a new chapter right away and I'm sooooo grateful you took the time to tell me what you thought of their days in Nemeth!_**

**_ Please, pretty please, don't skip telling me if you haven't yet done so and went from "Words" to "King" in one go! I live to know what you 'feel' while reading! _**

**_Next chapter will be fluffy-fluffy-fluffy because we need it after this (don't we?) and then we'll launch into the next 'season'._**

**_I can't promise it'll be up before next week, coz real life is as usual very intrusive, but I'll do my best (and it's mostly written already so that should be fast!)_**

**_THANK YOU AGAIN!_**


	16. In a land of mist and a time of peace

** IN A LAND OF MIST AND A TIME OF PEACE**

* * *

When Fall swathes the kingdom in brassy light and scarlet leaves, Lancelot marries Guinevere. There is no one to introduce the groom, so the king does it, and Gaius walks the orphan bride to the aisle. The maid is radiant, dressed in a cherry petal gown embroidered with pearls, her curly dark hair aristocratically pinned up by an ivory comb.

Merlin grins widely, looking his best in a cobalt surcoat and a white shirt, clapping like a mad man.

And he's beaming even more when, the following summer, Arthur is the one standing under the canopy.

It took the king almost a year to make his mind: a year of rebuilding his wounded kingdom, exchanging mail with Nemeth every week, travelling everywhere in Camelot, sending peace emissaries to the neighbor realms, working so hard, finding quiet and peace only on the ramparts, gazing South as his callous hands used to fight were holding the fine parchment of the letters.

Mithian wrote first, asking so many questions he _had_ to answer (Arthur isn't a literary man, to start with, he's a warrior). Then he discovered it was resting to lay on the paper his worries, his doubts, his plans. The princess sent back brimming hope, gentle jokes, crazy suggestions. He found himself thinking a garden would look good on one of the terraces. She said she'd like to see it so he invited her in Spring. Merlin was thrilled, of course. The manservant had been giving the Coursier his own letters – undecipherable happy babbling which Mithian seemed to understand somehow and to which she always answered with earnest kindness.

Arthur never had to shamelessly _ask_ if he could read their mail, for his manservant knew every single line by heart and would recite them whilst tending to his master.

The two weeks the princess spent in Camelot went far too fast and Geoffroy of Monmouth had to remind his liege his _entire_ being – body and _mind_ included - was needed in councils. Merlin – appointed personal bodyguard for the time – and Mithian planted roses in the garden, chased after cats in the hallways, played with kids in the lower town and helped trimming the fruit trees in the nearby villages. They came back every night for diner smelling of fresh grass, blossoming flowers, sunlight and freedom. Their giggles and their warm hearts always ready to give a hand were quickly the talk of all Camelot. People came to dot on the princess just as they did on the king's manservant.

After Mithian went back home, the knights often mentioned her, the castle staff needn't wait for Arthur's order to tend to the garden on the southern terrace and frequently would the advisors suggest how _beneficial_ would an alliance to Nemeth be.

So when Arthur announced his engagement with Princess Mithian, people only smiled fondly and nodded in agreement.

And never was the crowd so big and so loudly cheerful when the royal bride rode to the castle under a creamy laced veil, in a cloud of pink petals and crispy golden grains, the hoofs of her horse stepping on the laurel branches laid in the streets.

Mithian's beautiful amber eyes lock with Arthur's sapphire orbs during the ceremony, and she graciously bows her porcelain neck when the crown is set on the glossy raven hair cascading in waves down to her lithe waist.

Then the king takes her hand, presents her to the people – _her_ people, now – and she smiles with kindness and resolve.

She's queen.

And she stands by the man she loves, the warrior she admires, the king of Camelot.

_Her husband._

She's trembling with joy and wonder and worry that she won't be good enough when the servants leave their chambers, that night. She feels so small, so young, so inexperienced, barefoot in her embroidered night shirt, when Arthur turns to her and smiles.

Guinevere was the one who dressed Mithian in her wedding gown and the one who helped her out of the fine creamy silk. She told the princess there was nothing to fear from that first night with her husband.

The king looks at the shy young woman waiting for him in the dim light of the candles and he remembers Morgause's bitter words: he promises himself he won't ever make the queen's life a hell.

He walks up to his wife, carefully, softly cups her delicate face in his hands and when she closes her eyes trustingly, he kisses her for the very first time.

\- "I love you more than a thousand kingdoms…" he whispers.

She cuddles in his arms willingly.

\- "I will stand by you to protect this one kingdom, _forever_."

There is a bouquet of roses on the table by the window and their fragrance fills the bedroom.

The days pass, the seasons too, and Camelot dwells in peace.

Arthur has never been so busy, so passionate, so overwhelmed, so happy, so anxious, so determined.

It's a good thing he can rely on _them_ to keep moving forward.

Lancelot always knows from which end they should attack the work of the day, never panics, always remains calm until the king realizes it's not as bad he thought at first. And there is often in the corner of his eyes the glow of amused friendship during the endless councils.

Perceval never tires of going on patrols and Sir Leon trains the new knights when he is not home with his wife and their baby girl.

They come every day at dawn to give their reports at the round table that Arthur had built and set in the large room with arched windows, above the throne hall.

Gaius has no plans to retire anytime soon and Gwaine ... _well_, Gwaine is Gwaine and has not changed a bit since the young prince who was fishing in the forest with him in secret became a king who barely has time to hunt with noble guests.

Guinevere is a grace from heaven with her sensible and practical nature. Her status changed when she married Lancelot and the maid is now a lady-in-waiting, which allows her to keep an eye on Mithian and Merlin, to Arthur's great relief.

The queen is always regal and proper during the ceremonies and banquets and visits of other royals, but she's so keen on helping the poor and needy, she never sees evil. And Merlin… well, once, Merlin tried to convince his master _wolves_ were misunderstood creatures.

They keep running in impossible situations because of their good hearts and can only come up with the same excuse: "I couldn't let _that_ happen!".

Like that time they went to a nearby village and the crazy widow of a blacksmith knocked Merlin out with a stone – _nearly killing him, Gaius had quite a fright when his grandson was brought to him_ – and burnt Mithian's wrist with a hot iron. These two bumbling – adorable, impossible, maddening, dear – fools still tried to speak for the old woman, saying she had been scared by the Camelot crest on their escort's cloaks, but Arthur wouldn't have a word of it and had her hanged. _No one_ hurts the Queen and gets away with it. Even if _she_ is willing to forgive.

So they need close protection, if you want them to be back in one piece at the end of the day, and he assigned the task to Gwaine, knowing too well they would manage to convince the knight of the absolute necessity to still do what they wanted, and officially appointed Guinevere to supervise them. A least, the former maid doesn't get easily fooled and she knows how to wield a sword (even practices with her husband regularly), which is something that reassures Arthur a lot, even if Gwaine – _Sir_ Gwaine - is probably the best swordsman in the kingdom. _Hells_, there are two of them to protect. And _both_ would probably try to die saving the other if the occasion came up.

The king feels a lot more at ease when it's pouring outside. He knows at the end of the day he will find his two favorite people in the royal library, sprawled on their bellies like kids on a blanket next to a pile of books, reading together under the watchful eye of Geoffroy of Monmouth.

When he sneaks behind the shelves to startle them, he's only twenty-six, not anymore a king with heavy responsibilities, and that's one of the reasons he loves them both so much.

Mithian is so young and Merlin does not change, ever faithful to himself.

At least on the _inside_, in any case. Because he _has_ changed, physically speaking. He's still tall and lean, but the gawky duckling has turned into a gangly young swan. You can no more call him _a boy_. His features have sharpened, bony limbs got a bit more meat and muscles on them, he's standing straighter than before and, _how odd_, Arthur's even heard people saying his manservant was quite a _handsome_ young man – spare the big ears and the ever wondering blue eyes.

He's not yet shaving and the king feels rather relieved about it. He just dreads the moment when _Merlin_ will be toying with a blade so close to his throat.

The days pass, the mist wafts over the hills and dew sparkles on the meadow. The sun rises behind the mountains and slithers over the forests. The moon plays hide and seek, glistening on the ponds covered with ice.

Letters from Agravaine tell them Morgana is recovering slowly, that she spends hours on the beach watching the foam of the waves rolling up on the vast deep blue-green sea.

Percival and Gwaine had quite a fight over a woman called Lamia who stood them up both and disappeared with a third man, leaving the two friends to reconcile after a night drinking together at the tavern.

Bayard accepted the proposal of alliance with Camelot and Rodor came to visit. He complimented Arthur on his ruling of the kingdom, on the well-maintained roads, the flourishing landscapes and the smiles of the people. The king nodded, more moved than he cared to admit.

He does his best to protect the people and to accept their differences, their beliefs, their wishes, but often finds himself forced to dispense justice and to condemn, even if he would like to forgive, because the world expects him to be as powerful as his father.

He is aware that all eyes are on him, in the country and beyond the borders. They know his youth, they judge his acts, they pin his weaknesses, and he knows this fragile time of peace will not last forever. Someone will march against Camelot before he is ready.

So he redoubles of efforts.

And when Arthur feels the need to yell in frustration and slay a dummy grunting like a wild boar at the slow persnickety councils, complicated decisions, dangerous and terrifying choices he has to make, the fact he's a man of action and not so much of a politician, Merlin is always here to hold onto the sand bag or to run with him under the pouring rain, to help him belch out his anger until he feels ready to consider a possible solution, and his insane chatting often contains a spontaneous wisdom that points the king to the right direction.

And when Arthur is weary of evil plots, necessary executions, of all the evilness in this world and the weight of thousands of lives burdening his shoulders, Mithian is always here to hold him in her arms, to tell him it's okay to cry, to whisper he is doing a good job.

Because of them, the king can sit on the throne with confidence and a poised heart, facing whatever comes his way, making Lancelot proud of his composure, showing only quiet courage and wise resolve to friends or foes.

But sometimes Arthur wakes up in the night, drenched in sweat and his heart pounding in his chest: if he's to die tomorrow on the battlefield, during a bandits' attack or even of a stupid illness, _who_ will take care of the kingdom? He's got no heir and King Rodor might well be his most faithful ally, he's an_ old man_ and Nemeth is a small realm. There is no way Mithian could rule over Camelot on her own. Not only has she no clue about politics – _and Arthurs won't have it otherwise, he wants her to keep being this innocent ray of light and to ignore the terrible decisions he has to take_ – but she'd probably work herself to death trying to make everyone happy.

And he has come to understand that Lancelot, Gaius, Sir Leon, Geoffroy of Monmouth are good advisors and would protect the kingdom at the peril of their lives but they need a proper leader. Someone strong in mind and spirits, sensible, audacious, someone who'd respect the nobles and care for the peasants, someone quick to take decisions and capable of whithstanding the heartaches that come with the power of the crown.

Not necessarily a warrior.

Not necessarily a literary man or a political ace.

Not necessarily someone old and experienced.

_But someone with a vision._

_Albion, the five kingdoms united, peasants and nobles with equal rights._

Arthur's not even sure _he_ has all the required qualities.

He just knows what his dream is and he fiercely chases after it.

The days pass, the seasons too, and it's been two years since Camelot fell, Uther died, the prince became the king.

They are still here, all seven of them, with him.

It is _Samhain_ tonight.

The castle is bustling with cheerful preparations. The Great Hall is adorned with garlands of mistletoe and juniper, flaxen high candles, scarlet tablecloths and silver plates. The busy hallways smell of roasted meat and pastries, servants are hurrying up and down the stairs for the party to be grandiose, in a humming of music and laughter.

Up in the highest tower, Mithian swirls in her new periwinkle gown, waltzing with the king who's not yet fully dressed, only wearing a white shirt on his ceremonial trousers. Arthur feels overwhelmed with gratitude at his happiness, and leans to kiss his beloved wife.

Behind the window, a single flake twirls down slowly, like a dancing feather.

* * *

**_TBC_**

* * *

**Beware.**

**Winter is coming.**

* * *

**When hollow winds blow**

**Across the plains covered in snow,**

**Then come the Riders of Dorocha, the White Shadow,**

** Whom cries and death will follow.**

* * *

_(Sorry for the bad rhymes. Couldn't help myself. Hope it does strike you with a feeling of uneasiness, at least, if not of fear.)_

_I have to share my last odd delightful discoveries with you :_

_\- First, I don't know a thing about _Games of Throne_ but my brother's a fan and constantly wears his "Winter is coming" t-shirt, hence the not-so-good poem above. And _he_ doesn't have a clue about Merlin's series, but his baby son who is a total cutie happens to be called… _Emrys_._

_*gloats with no shame whatsoever*_

_\- Second, I re-watched Doctor Who's "Girl in the fireplace" episode this week (to build up instant-tragic-but-cute-romance threads in my twisted writing brain and you will soon understand why the need) and guess who I found in there: Lancelot _and_ Guinevere 'in the flesh'!_

_ *squeals* _

_Isn't life just wonderful?_

_I think too much fluffiness is messing with my head. It's okay, we're heading back into action-and-drama packed chapters._


	17. White Shadows

** WHITE SHADOWS**

* * *

The sky is bright blue, the air deliciously crispy cold under the winter sun.

Arthur has never had so much fun and his cheeks are flushed, the dark fur of his coat sprinkled with white flakes, his fingers numb from moulding the snow.

Mithian's hood, lined with ermine, has slipped on her shoulders and her burgundy velvet mantle sparkles with ice chips. Her cheeks are pink and her amber eyes shine with glee, as she aims at her royal husband with a new projectile, her hands well protected in her goatskin gloves.

Merlin and Lancelot are crouched behind the mound of snow the servants have gathered when clearing the path tiles and the stone benches. The knight attacks meticulously, but Merlin, whose head keeps popping up, is an easy target. His unruly dark hair is white-flecked and he scrunches up his nose, laughing, squinting in the glorious light.

Guinevere hesitated before joining the game, but she is now deep involved and pelting her husband and their rulers without restraint, giggling every time a light ball of crystals crashes on a shoulder or a forehead.

This is how Sir Leon finds them when he climbs four at once the stairs leading to the south terrace, a worried look on his face.

Arthur immediately resumes to a more royal stance. Guinevere pleats up her dress and goes to the queen, while Lancelot and Merlin follow the king and the knight.

There is a girl in the throne room. Blonde hair tucked in a tattered scarf, face smeared with tears and dirt, wearing a coarse woolen dress that is not warm enough for the season.

But the tremors shaking her body have nothing to do with the temperature.

Arthur talks to her gently, reassuring, asks questions with kindness and gets a somehow coherent sketch of what happened before the girl's knees give way under her and Gaius claims she needs to be allowed to rest.

Arthur gathers his most loyal knights and his advisors in the Round Table Hall.

\- "A shadow has been cast across our lands. The scouts have reported raids from Isulfor's pass and down to the Plains of Denaria. This morning, the villlage of Howden, no more than half a day's hard ride from here, was attacked . This can not be tolerated any longer."

\- "What do we know about the enemy?" Gwaine asks, frowning. "You were waiting to have more information before going on campaign to the western border."

Lancelot's eyes are far from reflecting his usual gentleness when he speaks.

\- "Until then, there had been no survivors. But the girl from Howden was able to describe them. They arrive at dusk, dressed in white cloaks and skull-shaped helmets. Their appearance alone is enough to create terror. They are fast, stealthy and relentless. They slaughter men, women and children without mercy and disappear into the night. They use bugles or bone whistles to communicate, so I understand. The girl heard something that sounded like a screech, a soulless wail."

Percival shudders involuntarily.

\- "Like ghosts ..."

\- "But ghosts who _kill_ concretely!" strongly intervenes Leon, while murmurs rise around the table. "Cowards that strike children and peasants! Sire, this is insufferable. Let us gather men, send a patrol. We'll ambush them. I'm sure Caerleon -"

Arthur shakes his head and silence is restored immediately.

\- "We have no evidence whether our neighbor is involved. Until we are certain, I don't want to hear anyone sully their name."

He puts his hands flat on the table and takes the time to think and to look at them one by one.

\- "We'll go to the wastelands of Ismere from were the attacks started. Not an army, but a substantial number of men. Not enough to worry Queen Annis about her borders, but enough to coerce a handful of bloodthirsty raiders and take prisoners that we can question. We leave tomorrow at dawn."

The men nod gravely.

The king concludes the council and sends them out, including Merlin, to prepare for the journey. He stays for a long time beside the large arched window, arms crossed, staring at nothing, not realizing Gaius and Geoffroy did not leave.

The old physician clears his throat after a moment.

\- "Sire. If I may, a word ..."

Arthur turns on his heels, nods.

\- "These _white shadows_, like the child named them ... Sir Leon is not mistaking. It was years ago… when your father had just been crowned king of Camelot ... we confronted with them… at the time ..."

\- "Speak your mind, Gaius."

\- "Caerleon's rulers have a personal guard composed of brutal and elusive assassins, a guild called the _Dorocha_. They send it ahead to weaken the population before attacking, to a kingdom they want to conquer ..."

\- "This is despicable", exclaims Arthur, outraged. "Absolutely contrary to the code of chivalry!"

Geoffrey of Monmouth tilts aside his bald head.

\- "But Caerleon does not care about honor. His knights are treated like mere soldiers and he acts more as the leader of a pack of bandits than a king worthy of the title."

\- "Sire", Gaius resumes, "you must stop them. This is a test and Camelot will never be at peace as long as you have not asserted your authority on this land and showed your strength to Queen Annis."

\- "Two years of peace", Arthur grumbles under his breath. "It was too good to keep on, obviously."

Outside, the sky has darkened and snow is falling again.

The next day, the courtyard is crowded with armed men, steeds and pack horses, squires eager at the prospect of their first war and much less enthusiastic knights who say goodbye to their families with quiet courage.

At the bottom of the great white stairs, in a swirl of cotton flakes, Mithian stands in her burgundy mantle draped on the steps. Guinevere is locked with Lancelot in one last embrace. He talks to her softly, then she quickly steps aside and goes to stand by the queen, wiping her eyes with the back of her lilac velvet sleeve.

The snow dapples her dark curly hair and melts in ice droplets on Mithian's pale cheeks as she tries to smile at Arthur. He's approaching, clad in armor, long scarlet cloak lined with shimmering fur on his broad shoulders.

He takes her hand, kisses her palm and then deposits in it his ring bearing the Pendragon seal.

\- "Here. You take this. It bears the royal seal. In my absence, responsibility to the kingdom rests with you."

The Queen nods, her throat tight.

\- "Gaius and Geoffrey of Monmouth will help you", says Arthur. He leans and brushes a loving kiss on her lips. "Farewell, Mithian."

\- "Come back soon", she whispers hoarsely when he steps away.

He smiles tenderly, pulls the hood on the raven glossy hair, then turns around and heads towards his steed. Merlin holds the bridle until his master is set on the saddle, then he lifts up his big blue eyes.

\- "Are we leaving right away?"

\- "Yes, _Mer_lin", the king replies, amused by this pleading look. "You should have gone to the latrine earlier. Come on, Merlin. Off we go, now. Tell goodbye to your cats and hop on the saddle!"

He smiles again as he urges on his mount, watching the young man hurry toward the stairs where stand the queen and her lady-in-waiting, arms linked for mutual comfort.

The snow keeps falling, dusting the horses manes and the oiled cloths of the pack-saddles, as the column of armed men leave in a din of hooves on cobblestones, to cross the drawbridge.

Merlin gazes into the eyes of the two women, very seriously.

\- "I'll take care of them", he promises solemnly.

\- "Thank you, Merlin", Guinevere whispers as he leans in to kiss her forehead.

\- "Thank you", breathes Mithian, tiptoeing to put a peck on his cheek.

\- "Come on, Merlin", Gwaine calls, holding the bridle of the servant's mount.

The young man runs to him, climbs into the saddle and the two riders catch up quickly with the others.

The courtyard is empty, now, and the snowflakes swirl silently under the ashen sky.

\- "Let's go back in", says Guinevere pleating up her lilac mantle. "You'll catch a cold."

Under the burgundy hood lined with ermine fur, Mithian clasps the heavy ring bearing the Pendragon seal in her frail hands.

She will be worthy of Arthur's trust and faithfully protect the kingdom in his absence.

And when he comes back safe and sound, he will smile at her with pride.

Everything will be fine.

* * *

oOoOoOo

* * *

The first night, they camp in the village of Howden.

This is the most frightening place Arthur has ever seen. The doors pang against the wooden lintels with a sinister sound in the dreadful silence. The wheel of an overturned wagon creaks with the wind blowing powder snow against the fences. The cattle were slaughtered as well. They find a goat alive in a barn full of straw and someone hurries to milk it. There are corpses everywhere, stiffened by the cold, blued by the night. Dead in their beds, sitting at their tables, caught on the run in a street, arms crossed in front of them when they were discovered, huddled under a bench or in an alcove.

A little girl with a rag doll, a woman with her basket still full of parsnips, an old man bent over a grandmother, two men with a hay fork and a cudgel who have unsuccessfully attempted to resist.

Everywhere, always a terrified look on their faces, frost crisps clinging to their blemish skin, empty eyes opened wide.

The king orders them to gather the dead in one of the cottages and plugs all openings, nailing the door. Then he sets the men for the night in the empty houses, places sentinels around the village, and arms them with torches.

Merlin has seen corpses during the battle to take over Camelot, but his distress is not less gripping. He wanders like a lost soul, jumping at the slightest noise, finds the children's toys and displays them on the window of the cottage that serves as a funeral home, lights a candle on the doorstep.

Arthur quickly gets tired of his dismay, calls him in, shoves a bowl of stew in his hands and monitors him until he swallows a few bites with difficulty, before shipping him to lie on one of the pallets. Then he sits down with Lancelot and Gwaine to study the map, while Leon and Sir Percival patrol among the others.

The next day, they leave behind the cottage on fire and head North.

The snow is still falling, stifling the horses steps, covering the landscape with a shroud of cold and thick feathers. Their coats are wet and heavy, their armors unconfortable, their cheeks and noses cut off by the wind and peeled red, but they keep moving forward, their eyes on the road through the black stripped trees.

In the distance, wolves are howling.

They entered some of the stricken villages and began to shred the refrigerated corpses, dragging torn limbs through the streets, leaving long dark streaks and delicate paw prints in the snow.

The third night, they camp in the ruins of a castle. The men's voices resonate with a guttural echo against the collapsed stone walls, as they settle to sleep.

Lancelot rubs his numb hands, feeling the familiar pinch on his cold-scrapped cheekbone. He approaches Arthur who is looking at the maps again, sitting next to the crackling fire.

The tent that protects the king from the temperature has been stretched between two iron rods protruding from the rubble. The ruler's bag and roll are waiting alongside Merlin's bundle.

Lancelot sits on a rock and his gaze looks for the manservant. He finds him quickly, among the soldiers, picking up firewood. Someone laughs - mockingly rather than friendly - but Merlin does not take offense, smiles at the taunting, walks away with his usual clumsiness, his gangly legs drawing shadows on the stones covered with moss. A group – young people, probably squires or any new army recruits – passes by him and makes him trip. Lancelot is about to get up, but he notices Gwaine making his way towards Merlin and leading him away from those jeering at him.

\- "Why did you let him come?" the knight asks quietly, a barely veiled reproach in his tone.

Arthur glances at him distractedly.

\- "Who?"

\- "Merlin", Lancelot answers, slightly annoyed. "It would have been better for him to stay at the castle. He's not a warrior, he should not be here."

\- "Others took their servants with them", mumbles the king, not looking up, busy tapping the tip of his knife along a dotted line drawn on the leather map. "Besides Merlin is the only one who manages to find wood dry enough to start a fire, even by this wet weather. Maybe it's a trick he learnt from Gaius ..."

\- "Fifty knights, two hundred soldiers and twenty squires", sharply cuts in his friend. "You didn't think someone could help you dress, you _had_ to take him with you. What will happen if we are attacked, sire? He won't be able to fight. The Dorocha will k- "

Arthur's eyes blaze.

Lancelot shuts up.

\- "I forbid you", hisses the king.

\- "If you're so worried something might happen to him, why didn't you leave him in Camelot?" scolds the knight.

The fire crackles in the silence that falls between them for a few moments, then Arthur rolls the map, sighing.

\- "Because he would have _followed_ us and gotten _lost_", he finally grunts. "Have you not noticed how he spends his days with the queen whilst I am in the castle, but clings on to me if I ever decide to go out, whether for hunting or protocol visits? It's been like this since ... since the battle before the coronation."

Lancelot knows this is true.

The king's eyes seek his manservant, find him near a brazier, stirring the stew, listening with an amused Percival to Gwaine who gestures animatedly, telling what must be one of his adventures starting with "one day I was at the tavern… "

\- "The men aren't kind to him. Those who know him accept him as he is, but the others ... a lot of people don't understand why an ... _idiot_ remains at your service ..."

Arthur shrugs resignedly.

\- "It's like that and it won't change. I'm the king, I do what I please. There will always be jealous people and fools who will not be able to see beyond his condition. Whatever. As long as Merlin's with me, I ..."

He does not finish his sentence, lost in thought, and Lancelot wonders what words he has not spoken.

_As long as Merlin's with me, I will protect him._

_As long as Merlin's with me, I'm not afraid._

How much the words of the old druid woman have affected the prince at the time? Has he really heard them? Understood them?

_As long as Merlin's with me, I walk in the right direction._

Well, it does not matter, actually. Lancelot can't imagine a world without Merlin, as for him.

_A world without a sincere smile._

_A world without those blue eyes that look deep in your soul and love you anyway._

_A world without innocence._

The men finish eating and lay near the fires, wrapped in their blankets. The fog lifted, earlier, it will be very cold, tonight. The stars shine brightly, far above their heads.

Arthur unfolds his blankets when most of his army is asleep, after a final stroll to exchange a word with the guards, give a pat on their shoulders, check the torches.

All of them are sleeping with their swords at hand. Some snore, some mumble in their slumber. The squires stopped their game of dice when he passed near them. The servants finished washing the dishes and have already stored them in the bags.

Everything is calm.

Well, except for Gwaine who mutters while fishing up his socks, which caught fire. In front of him, Percival, his arms crossed under his nape, chuckles quietly.

Arthur lies down with a contented sigh, still wearing his boots, and pulls the blanket up to his chin, using his saddle for pillow.

As usual before falling asleep, his thoughts go to Camelot, to Mithian left alone to manage the country, a burden too heavy for her fragile shoulders, to this day that ends without incident, to the next day which could see their death.

_What are the White Shadows?_

_Where lurks the Dorocha?_

_Who sent them?_

_Will they have to march on to Caerleon with the army?_

A log collapses in ashes, and some sparks fly off. From the distance comes the howling of wolves.

Someone suddenly sits up next to him and he realizes he must have dozed a while, because Merlin is now lying a few feet from him.

Well. _Was_ lying.

The young man with blue eyes is scrutinizing the surroundings, his black hair spiking on his head like someone who has awakened in a nightmare.

\- "Did you hear that?"

\- "Go back to sleep, Merlin", Arthur slurrs, turning sideways to snuggle his cheek against the worn leather that smells of horse and sweat. "It's nothing. A snow pack falling from a tree in the forest or a night owl."

\- "No-o. T'was something else. A funny noise, clack-clack-fuiiii."

The king cracks an eye open.

\- "It's the sound of your teeth chattering, _Mer_lin. Calm down, you have nothing to fear. We are many men and the sentinels are keeping a lookout."

The manservant glares at him.

\- "That won't stop the White Shadows from attacking if they wish to!" he protests. "You've seen what they are capable of ... all these villages ..."

He swallows hard, pulls the blanket to his chest, not noticing his long legs sticking out.

\- "You're not scared? he whispers.

Arthur looks at him very seriously.

\- "Oh, I am, Merlin", he sighs after a moment. "Maybe more than you."

He pats the ground and the young man obediently lies back again, his big blue eyes still worried gazing at the king. His breath puffs in little white clouds in the dark.

\- "But I don't let fear leading me. I think of my people, of my kingdom, of each of the men who pledge allegiance to me. I'll do anything to protect them. This is what drives me. I think only of my duty, and that's what keeps me moving on."

\- "Oh", says Merlin. "I understand."

Arthur smiles fondly.

\- "What do _you_ understand of the duty of a king?" he asks gently.

There is no doubt on his manservant's face when he answers.

\- "The duty of a king, I don't know. But _my duty_, I do. I will protect you, Arthur. I'm going to be at your side, like I always am."

And on that promise delivered calmly and decidedly, he closes his eyes and drifts off to sleep, his chin huddled up in his blanket.

Arthur shakes his head, a lump in his throat, feeling again like he does not deserve that loyalty.

In the distance, the wolves are still howling and, from time to time, a bird's screech frays the nerves of the sentinels.

The icy wind flickers the flames of the torches, but does not extinguished them.

At dawn, the king divides his troops into eight groups, led respectively by Percival, Sir Leon, Gwaine, Lancelot, Sir Bertrand, Sir Montague, Sir Elyan and himself. They're approaching the northern mountains and the wastelands surrounding the forgotten of fortress of Ismere. Each commander receives a portion of territory to explore and is instructed to make way to the northernmost outpost, where they will meet in four days.

Merlin lets his gaze linger on the columns of riders going down the hill and separating, then urges on his horse to follow the king.

His lips are chapped and his cheekbones red and peeled off by the coldness but he does not care about it. Arthur had him put on a chainmail coat almost his size and the quilted vest under the heavy armor keeps him warmer than the several layers of woolen shirts he had slipped under his jacket. He is quite proud to be dressed like any other member of the army, even though he's not allowed to carry a sword.

The clouds are low and the wind blows, white and pasty. A storm is brewing.

Arthur checks the threatening sky and surveys the trudging of his men in the snow so thick the horses sink in it down to the chest. He pushes his steed uphill, clicking his tongue, patting the neck hot with sweat, gets first to the mountain pass and notes with satisfaction there is a coniferous forest on the other side.

The floor will be drier under the branches loaded with pine-needles, they will be able to light a fire and safe from the blowing snow.

In the distance, he can see the smokes of a village - probably the last before the vast white and icy wastelands around the fortress, and a lake below, which surface is smooth - probably frozen.

He encourages his troops, glances towards Merlin who has no trouble keeping up (and his horse is probably better off than the others with such a skinny rider) then goes down the slope, watching carefully for ice patches.

He keeps his gaze and ears alert.

When evening falls, the thirty men settle in a clearing and extend the oiled cloth between the trees to complete the protection offered by the pine-needles branches.

Merlin is cooking when he suddenly stops, frowning, his frying pan in his hand.

\- "What's now, simpleton? Do you need your comfort blanket?" sneers a soldier.

\- "The dimwit's starting to make me edgy."

The manservant jumps when a horse whinnies.

\- "It's just a nag", scoffs a squire.

\- "Maybe it sensed something", breathes the young man with blue eyes, his large ears redden by the cold.

He instinctively looks for Arthur and spots him, motionless, trying to peer into the dark woods, his hand on his sword.

\- "I really don't understand why we have to put up with this wimp", another man scorns, bending to take off his boots beside the fire.

This is when the shrieking sears through the night.

A shrill scream, piercing, unbearable, like the mourning cry of a torn soul escaped from hell.

And then the shadows come alive and the next thing they know the camp is swept up in a whirlwind of white cloaks, skull helmets breathing heavily, clatter of swords and groans of pain.

Merlin makes his way among the fighters, swinging his frying pan around, tripping over the bags cluttering the ground, desperate to get to Arthur and protect him.

The mournful whistling has not stopped, churns his brain with terror, makes his legs wobble. He falls flat in the snow, gets up soaked, with a taste of blood and tooth enamel clotting his throat, grumbling against the chainmail coat keeping him from moving faster, then heaves a sigh of relief when the tip of a blade scrapes against the metal rings without hurting him. His hand grazes on the tip of a crossbow and he picks it up with a handful of darts.

Arthur is pushed into the woods, fighting with one of the creatures dressed in white, parrying the blows of a sword almost as big as him. Blood is trickling down his temple and his jaws are clenched.

Merlin sneaks in between the trees with the crossbow, clumsily trying to engage the dart despite his numb fingers. The little arrow falls to the ground, he can not find it in the dark. The fires in the clearing are only hitting the trees with moving shadows of light: it's hard to distinguish the king, he can only follow his muffled grunts.

The _Dorocha_ warrior does not utter a single sound, almost like if it was not breathing.

The battle sounds are dying behind Merlin, as if gradually all their troops had fallen dead.

The manservant tosses the useless crossbow, frustrated, slips between the trunks, groping the ground in search of a stick.

_He will strike the enemy from behind, and it's just too bad. Who cares? He is no knight and all that matters to him is to save Arthur._

His breath glows in the dark and warm sweat drips down his face.

_Arthur._

_It is his duty._

_He must protect Arthur, at any cost._

_He promised Mithian._

_He promised himself._

And the world would just not be _right_ without Arthur.

The king and his opponent trudge into the snow at the edge of the woods, on top of a hill.

Below, the frozen lake shimmers.

Merlin approaches, his fingers grasping a dried bough. Camelot's sovereign falls to one knee, blocking the giant sword that strikes him down. His servant rushes forward.

\- "ARTHUR!"

The king does not have time to understand what is happening. The _Dorocha_ warrior either, probably.

Merlin hurls himself in between them, waving his ridiculous twig that breaks right away when it hits the horrible helmet of the enemy.

The White Shadow moves violently to get rid of what has fallen on him and his arm sweeps off Merlin's lanky body, sending him rounding along the slope.

Arthur gets up swiftly, thrusting his sword in one of the skull hollow orbits and a bestial holler of agony bursts in his ears.

He steps back, reaches out to a tree to catch himself up, shaking his head.

The coldness of the night overwhelms him as his hearing comes back.

A sinister cracking sound, not so far.

Followed by a dreadful splash.

* * *

_**TBC **_

* * *

**_Based on episodes : 4x01, 4x02, 5x01, 5x02, 4x05_**


	18. Hold on, Merlin

** HOLD ON, MERLIN**

* * *

The fear pushing its claws in Arthur's insides makes him dizzy.

He drops his sword without a thought and tromps down the snowy slope, breathless, his heart crushed with anguish.

Under the pale moon, the broken ice on the surface of the lake shimmers like quartz. The black water is hardly rippling.

\- "MERLIN! Oh, gods ... No, no, _no_! Merlin, _Merlin_ !"

He's choking, he sprained his knee, his trousers are soaked and his boots full of snow. He does not feel the blood on his face, the bruise on his jaw or the two other light injuries.

He scans the lake desperately, the spot where the cracked ice gave way under the weight of his manservant, the dark and gooey hole that swallowed Merlin.

_Chain mail. Oh no. He sank. He must have hit his head. Can he swim? Oh, Merlin, don't die, I beg of you, please, don't die! That's my fault. This is all my fault!_

The soil is slippery and the grass frosted on the bank. He immerses his arms in the water, hissing when the cold burns his skin, groping in the thick liquid piercing him with a thousand needles.

And grabs something.

_A sleeve. A hand._

\- "Merlin!"

His fingers grasp the piece of cloth, a wrist, and he drags the unconscious young man out of the water at once, grunting.

He has never been so glad his manservant is so skinny.

Merlin sputters weakly, coughs, and Arthur could almost sob with relief.

He leans over him - and a violent bash against his temple makes him see stars, hurling him in the snow.

He straightens up and suddenly someone is bluntly twisting his arms behind his back. Arthur blinks to clear his mind, and his throat constricts when he realizes he is surrounded by three warriors of the _Dorocha_, standing in the dark like ghosts.

One of them gives a kick to Merlin's slumped body, as if to send it back to the lake, and Arthur lets go of a pleading cry, instinctive, stronger than him.

\- "NOO! Wait! Please, don't kill him ... it's just a simpleminded fool. He's my servant ... he's done nothing wrong ..."

The skull-shaped helmet turns to him, glistening eerily in the moonlight, and the white glove slides toward the hilt of his strange curved sword.

For a terrible moment, Arthur thinks they are both going to die _now_.

Then the creature turns around in a gust of its hoary cloak. One of the warriors picks up Merlin like a bag of potatoes and throws him over his shoulder. Another thumps his knee in Arthur's back to make him get up and follow.

They climb back the slope at forced march, regardless of their prisoner's panting. The king's arms are shaking uncontrollably, he can not feel his feet anymore and ice chips cling to his sleeves, to his coat, to the unruly black hair of Merlin whose limp body is hanging down in front of him. His wet chainmail coat gleams under the moonlight.

Arthur's teeth are chattering and he is fighting with all his might the cold swamping through his bones.

_Merlin must be taken care of. He must be dried, warmed up, given one of Gaius' miracle potions - right now._

_He will die otherwise._

_He will die for sure. They are prisoners._

Someone hustles him forward and he stumbles, crashes on his sprained knee and stifles a groan. They are back at the clearing where his troop camped. The fires are still burning, but there is no more soul alive.

_Massacred._

_All his men._

The half-open bags litter the place, there are blood and pine needles in the tramped snow, and one of the _Dorocha_ warriors sitting on the trunk next to the stew they were supposed to have for supper.

_Their leader, probably, considering the amount of wolf furs on his shoulders._

They drop Merlin's body at his feet and someone shoves down Arthur's neck.

He is expecting questions, crude snigger, a vivid description of the tortures they have in store for him - something. But he hears nothing but a low growl, like that of an animal, followed by a graveled sound that raises the wisps of hair on his nape.

His eyes do not leave Merlin and he tries to check on him as much as he can in the glow of the flames.

He is extremely pale, lips purple, nostrils and circles dug darkly in his skin, body racked by violent tremors.

Arthur looks up, bites his lip. He wants to defy the enemy, to face them with dignity, to show the courage and pride of Camelot's ruler ... but if he taunts them, _what will they do to Merlin?_

\- "What do you want?" he snarls, torn in two. "Who are you? Who sent you? Declare your name!"

He does not get an answer, but another blow to the head, apparently meant to make him shut up.

_Why aren't they talking?_

_Do they even know how to speak?_

_What lies beneath their ghostly helmets?_

He swallows hard, tries to calm his quaking jaw. He is _so_ cold, _this_ is real torture.

\- "Look, I know why you spared me. I give you my word I won't try to escape. Now let me take care of my servant. He will die if ..."

A boot slogs his guts and he collapses, gasping.

Again, inhuman grunts, then he's dragged to a tree and tied up with his arms behind him. He wrestles, but it is a waste. His eyes widen in horror when he sees the corpses of his men stacked up next to him.

A young squire's face is turned to him, gaping with empty eyes.

Arthur looks away, curls up to gather all the heat he can.

_He failed._

_He left to die thirty of his men._

_He fell into the hands of the enemy - him, the king of Camelot._

He should never have split his army into eight groups. He thought they were far enough inland to avoid the threat of the _Dorocha_, that the ennemy would be busy striking villages in the south – villages whose protection he well organized before leaving.

_May the others be alive._

He is ashamed_. He was so stupid. How could he think for even a moment that a peaceful kingdom and a comprehensive sovereign would be seen favorably by his neighbors?_ He should have been more severe, showed his strength with more authority - cruelty, if he had to. He offered Camelot as a lamb to the foreign wolves.

_He's reaping what he has sown._

But most of all, he should have listened to Lancelot. He should _never_ have let Merlin come with them.

_Guinevere and__ Mithian will have their heart broken. Merlin will die and he will have to watch it, hopeless..._

His throat tightens and tears well up in his eyes, burning his cold-scorched cornea.

He will _not_ cry.

_Not when__ there is still hope._

In three days, the others will reach the fortress of Ismere. They will realize his group is missing, they will come to the rescue.

_Three days._

_Merlin__ will not hold until then._

_Is he__ still breathing?_

From where he is, Arthur can not glimpse the condensed breath of his servant, nor the slightest movement.

_If Merlin dies__, he will never forgive himself._

His swollen fingers and frosted nails hurt so bad. His boots have turned into lead, pain throbs in his knee, his nose is frozen, his lips bleeding. The night is cold and he is wet, he is hurt, discouraged, alone.

Arthur may not have many more chances to survive than his servant.

The White Shadows are settling in for the night. They are only four of them – they must have been five, if you count in the one Arthur killed at the top of the hill.

So few men and they murdered in cold blood thirty men trained to fight in less than an hour.

_What are they? Humans? Monsters?_

_Where do they come from? Caerleon? The depths of Hell?_

_Who do they answer to?_

One of the _Dorocha_ warriors crouches next to Merlin's slumped form.

Arthur stiffens.

The skull-shaped helmet tilts to the side, thoughtfully. An arm comes out of the white cloak, reaches to the body, rolls the servant to study it better. Then the enemy seems to make his mind. He takes off his gloves, slips them in his belt and he begins to unbuckle the chain mail coat.

Arthur has stopped breathing and all blood is gone from his face.

_What will they do to him?_

_No. No. NO._

He yanks on his bonds, flays the skin of his wrists, grits his teeth.

\- "Hey! You! Leave him!" he roars. "I forbid you! DON'T TOUCH HIM!"

Nobody spares a glance at him.

The White Shadow, meanwhile, pulls off Merlin's boots, casts aside the chainmail coat, removes the young man's shirt, his pants.

_His servant - his friend - his _little brother_ is lying in the snow, naked, in a circle of bloodthirsty brutes._

Arthur is blinded by rage and fear, half suffocated by his efforts to free himself and ... suddenly he freezes.

By the fire, the warrior is now rubbing Merlin's body with a blanket.

And when he's done, he dresses him with clothes he takes from a random bag, swaddles him in two blankets and makes him swallow a few sips from his wine skin.

Arthur sees black spots dancing before his eyes and sparks flash behind his eyelids as he tries to regain control of his breath. His heart is thumping in his ribs as if it was trying to escape.

The _Dorocha_ warrior's gestures were precise and fast, but without tenderness, soulless. None of the others appeared to want to stop him, but they did not shown any interest either.

_WHY?_

The White Shadow unfolds slowly, picks up Merlin as if he weighed no more than a kitten and goes to the prisoner. Without a word, he drops the servant on Arthur's lap, then bypasses the tree and unties the man. Whilst the king immediately checks frantically the young man's wan face and taps his cheeks, the warrior girdles the rope around Arthur's chest and ties him again, leaving his arms free, this time.

Merlin is cold - _so cold_.

He is shivering so hard and his breathing is so weak and painful.

Arthur hugs him to give him as much body heat as he can, not realizing his sleeves and trousers soak the blankets rather than help.

\- "Wake up, Merlin ... come on, clotpole... what are you doing? Why did you have to jump in the fight? You never do as you're told ... the worst servant I've ever had ...

His voice breaks.

He is exhausted, nerve-wrecked, and he drifts into a restless sleep without even noticing.

When he wakes up, it's early morning. A golden ray hems the tip of a pine-tree covered with snow. A small brown bird hops next to him, chirping quietly, pecking, leaving tiny footprints on the white carpet.

Arthur feels hot and stuffy.

_Terribly hot._

It takes him a few seconds to understand why, to remember what happened, then he quickly straightens up.

The sparrow flies away into a flutter of wings.

Merlin is still sagged against him, his long legs stretched out in the snow, his head nestled against the king's shoulder, his arms buried in the rough blankets.

He is deathly pale, except for the unhealthy red spots on his cheeks. Sweat tangles his black curls on his forehead and he never stops shivering. He is burning and occasionally coughs, a harsh – gurgling – grating - awful sound.

\- "Merlin?" Arthur rasps softly.

His throat is on fire and the more he wakes up, the more he can feel his sore muscles, the razor cuts on his cheekbones, his toes stinging like if killer ants were biting him.

\- "You never shut up, usually ... come on, _Mer_lin ... open your eyes ... I'm the king, you're supposed to do as I say ..."

The dark eyelashes flicker and Arthur smiles with boundless gratitude to the unfocused cobalt orbs.

\- "Ah. _Finally_."

\- "M ... l'ate ...?" Merlin slurrs.

\- "Yes", says Arthur in a hoarse voice. "Infamously late. Let me tell you that you're going to muck the stables _for weeks_ after you frightened me like this. A lake, _Mer_lin! Why did you have to take a dip in _a lake_ in the middle of the night? It's _winter_!"

The servant does not understand and his eyelids drop down already anyway, but the king now feels like he can take on the world.

A grunt makes him look up.

One of the _Dorocha_ warriors is standing in front of him. Perhaps the one from yesterday night, the one who showed compassion, or perhaps another. They all look alike, except for the one with the wolf fur on his shoulders.

They don't look less terrifying in daylight.

The White Shadow unties the rope and pulls up Arthur, grabbing his arm. Merlin slumps to the ground with a feeble moan.

\- "What ... wait, what are you doing? No!"

They take away the king, not even glancing at the pile of blankets, not slowing down at all.

Arthur struggles as much as he can, but it doesn't change a thing. His wrists are tied with another rope attached to the pommel of a saddle and he is forced to stumble up, following the riders in the deep snow. He turns his head as many times as he can, until the clearing disappears in between the trees, along with hope and any kind of honor.

He clenches his jaws and lets rage consume him.

_Hold on, Merlin._

_I'm coming back for you._

As soon as he can, he will run away.

* * *

oOoOoOo

* * *

The sun is dazzling in the plain draped with pure white, under the azure sky.

Lancelot halts his steed. He raises a hand to shield his eyes and scans the hills, the black skeletal trees on the ridge afar, the frozen shimmering lake down in the valley.

Behind him, ninety men with cold-withered faces climb up the slope, boots sinking deep in the snow, helping the wounded hauled on the horses.

_Nineteen__ survivors._

_That's all._

_Among the dead__, Sir Bertrand and Sir Montague._

_Gwaine__ and Percival were captured with a dozen others, but there is no guarantee they have not yet been executed by the White Shadows._

_This__ expedition to Ismere is a cursed campaign._

Lancelot's fist tightens on the hilt of his sword.

\- "Do you think Arthur's party has also been attacked?" asks Sir Leon, bringing up his mount to the black-haired Knight.

\- "Probably."

\- "Let's hope he's alive, if not free. If we can negotiate in exchange for ..."

The blond curly Knight gives a look to their prisoner. The man scoffs at him. He is not very tall and his cloak lined with white fur highlights his bushy brown beard and his tanned skin. His gauntlets are black and a bronze crescent hangs from a chain around his neck.

\- "... There may be a chance."

\- "Hum", says Lancelot.

He shifts on his saddle and monitors the progress of the troops. Then urges on his horse.

\- "Come on, let's go down to the lake. They must have set camp on the other side of the pass."

* * *

**_TBC_**

* * *

**_(Well. The chapter was going to be far too long, so I cut it. Next part will be up soon, I promise._**

**_I figured you guys would rather find out what had happen after the ominous cliffanger. It should help with the wait of the conclusion of this arc...)_**

**_Just to make you feel better (maybe) : the story is not over yet, you know. We still have at least SIX (long) CHAPTERS to go..._**

**_THANKS AGAIN FOR YOUR TREMENDOUS SUPPORT !_**


	19. Knight of the Round Table

** KNIGHT OF THE ROUND TABLE**

* * *

The young queen's amber eyes sparkle with anger.

\- " Why have you closed the city gates?" she demands.

Behind her high armchair, Guinevere's look is just as furious.

It was her who told Mithian what the advisors were doing and they know it. Some shot her murderous glances, but Geoffrey of Monmouth simply answers quietly.

\- "We have limited resources. As much as we would like to, we simply cannot feed and water the entire kingdom. Too many are coming, frightened by the threat of the White Shadows."

\- "The people have the _right_ to be protected!" Mithian protests, tears welling up in her eyes at seeing all those stubborn and condescending old men ignoring her plea.

They think she is just a pretty doll Arthur married to seal an alliance and to have fun, that she is not able to manage Camelot, that she is only a careless child, cute, to whom you offer roses and cats and whom you keep away from major issues.

_Her rage could make her weep._

_This is not true._

_Yes, she does not know everything and the task frightens her._

But the king gave her his seal and she is a Pendragon now. She will not betray his trust.

_Oh, if only someone could be on her side ..._

Her eyes are begging the old physician sitting at the left end of the table.

\- "This would be putting Camelot in danger, Your Majesty", Gaius murmurs, almost reluctantly. " I feel the pain as much as you, but we don't have a choice. If we keep letting people in, our food will run out within days. If his royal highness was here ... "

\- "You are _wrong_!" Mithian shouts, rising and slamming her small hands on the table, making parchment and ink bottles jump. "And you _know _you are, Gaius. Every citizen of Camelot is important to the king. He would never stand by and let them suffer. He would help them if he could, and we must do the same."

They shrug in their warm and elegant coats and, outside, the snow falls in heavy flakes. A hungry, frightened, shivering crowd has gathered in the courtyard and Mithian can almost hear their pleading hearts.

_Oh, why won't they listen to her?_

_What words does she have to say to convince them?_

Someone clears their throat behind her and she looks up.

\- "My lords", Guinevere asks in a polite but firm voice. "May I be granted permission to address the court?"

Mithian's face lights up.

_Guinevere will know. Guinevere always has the best ideas of the world, the most practical ones._

She is here, beside the Queen, and the young woman suddenly feels stronger.

\- "Speak freely, Lady Guinevere", she says quickly, before any of the grumpy old men or ambitious and selfish nobles prevent her friend from speaking.

Nobody dares to disagree with the queen this time.

Gaius and Geoffroy seem strangely relieved of this intervention.

The brunette wearing a long blue dress curtsies. Her almond brown eyes wander on the advisors with a depth making them ill-at-ease.

\- "Those outside the gates are landowners, farmers. For days the refugees have been bartering their wares with the townsfolk in return for the safety of their hearths. They bring with them far more than they take", she explains, pushing behind her ear a long curly strand. "The king will soon return, victorious, and the threat of White Shadows will be gone. Surely we can hold on a few more days - or do you think His Majesty will fail?"

Mithian is so proud of Guinevere's quiet but dangerous tone. She lifts her delicate chin to show her approval with the speech of her lady-in-waiting, glaring at the councilmen shifting uncomfortably in their chairs.

\- "If the people sense our fear, they will not trust us", she says with passion. "Let's show courage. Let's have faith in Arthur."

On her glossy raven hair, the too heavy crown sits proudly and the white light streaming through the window shimmers on the fine jewels inlaid in the silver circle.

\- "Very well, Your Majesty", finally complies the first advisor. "Reopen the doors."

Gaius does not smile, but his folded brow endorses the decision, while Geoffrey wonders about the evolution of the world: now, _women_ demonstrate more courage and wisdom than statesmen ...

_He's getting old._

_But__ he does not regret a moment to be the witness of progress._

Arthur is a great king and choosing Mithian to be his queen was a good thing.

_And placing__ next to her the young sensible - and daring – spouse of his most loyal knight, a truly strategic decision._

Camelot is in good hands.

* * *

oOoOoOo

* * *

At least Camelot is in good hands.

Arthur is so tired he is not sure he is still awake. He stumbles in the fog, hungry, exhausted, frozen, every inch of his body aching, including the corners of his brain that he has wracked to find a solution.

_He won't get out of this__ on his own._

He can not run away. He can not fight against four trained and healthy super assassins, in the state he is.

Whoever the enemy that sent the _Dorocha_ against him, there will be no alternative without a bloodbath now that he was taken prisoner. Such a cruel warlord is not out for a ransom ...

He could almost hear the roar of two armies hurtling towards each other.

_All is lost._

_It's over_

He has failed.

* * *

oOoOoOo

* * *

Lancelot raises his hand to intimate silence to his men and the Knights disperse in the empty and devastated camp.

Arthur was attacked, just like Gwaine, Percival, Sir Montague and Sir Bertrand. They should never have split into several groups. It is only because Lancelot and Sir Leon spent the night in the same place that their troops were ignored by the White Shadows. And Sir Elyan's camp was only saved by its proximity with them, because they saw the lights go up and heard the clamor.

Lancelot and Sir Leon then hurried on the footsteps of their companions, only to see from afar Gwaine and Percival taken away with wounded men in the ashen light of morning. They went in pursuit, but could not reach them before being attacked again by other warriors of the _Dorocha_. At least, they managed to escape alive and even took prisoners. They were able to remove the hellish helmets and find out that the enemy was human.

They made two discoveries. One still gives chills to Lancelot, but the other one brought him hope.

And if they can find Arthur, they will win this war.

_Not all is lost._

Lancelot sheathes his sword once they are sure the premises have been deserted for several hours.

Here, too, it was a slaughter. He pays his respects to the corpses and a squire lends him his shoulder so he can add to his list the thirty new names of his fallen comrades.

\- "Sir Lancelot! Come and see!"

He turns on his heels at the urgent calling of Sir Leon, dumps in the squire's hands the parchment and quill dipped in ink, and rushes towards the blond knight kneeling at the foot of a tree.

_Could it be that Arthur ..._

His dark eyes widened when he unfolds the blankets wrapped around the human form.

\- "Merlin!"

\- "He's frozen to the bones", says Leon worriedly. "I don't understand, what happened? _Why_ is he still alive while the others are all dead? And where's the king?"

Lancelot pulls off his glove with his teeth and slides his fingers under the pale chin of the unconscious servant.

\- "His pulse is so weak ... and he's burning with fever."

He runs a hand on the short bristles of beard peppering his cheeks.

\- "Merlin", he calls, gently shaking his young friend's shoulder. "Merlin, it's Lancelot. Wake up, please... tell us what happened ..."

\- "Sir, tracks westward" interrupts a knight. "Four men on horseback and one on foot. Prisoner, no doubt."

\- "Arthur", Leon gasps.

Lancelot thinks fast, his eyes still surveying Merlin who stirs, and opens his mouth. The young man bends down to listen as closely as he can.

\- "A't'r ... take ... me… wit'… y'u… pl's…"

Lancelot places a warm and comforting hand on the servant's forehead and swallows hard.

\- "Take fifty men with you and hunt them down. Sir Leon, bring back the king."

The blond curly knight nods vigorously.

\- "Count on me."

He gets up, his red cloak flying behind him, and goes gather his men.

Lancelot slips his arm under the pile of frosted blankets and picks up Merlin. The young man's head lolls on his shoulder, so light.

\- "Everything will be fine, Merlin", Lancelot whispers. "We will bring him back. We'll look after you. And we will end this slaughter."

He orders the tents to be set up and the fires rekindled. The night will fall in a few hours.

Arthur will be hungry and cold. If he's walking, it means he's not too seriously injured.

_But in what state of mind he will be after leaving Merlin behind and witnessing the death of all his troops?_

_Probably broken, angry, feeling guilty._

When he comes back, the king will find a warm bed and a good meal waiting for him.

Lancelot's brains are working at full speed, while laying Merlin on a pallet and ordering someone to bring him the medicine bag.

_Maps,__ battle plans, the information they gathered, the prisoner._

Everything will be ready for his lord.

That's what his lieutenant is here for.

* * *

oOoOoOo

* * *

Arthur is not quite sure this is truly happening. Maybe this is another dream, his exhausted and discouraged mind playing tricks on him. He barely registers the clatter of swords, the exclamations and the soulless wail of warning when the White Shadows realize they are surrounded. He watches a white cloak run away in the woods and suddenly Sir Leon is standing before him, cutting off the rope that burns his wrists.

\- "Sire, you are safe!"

He blinks, in a daze.

\- "Don't go after them!" yells the knight to his men. "Let's get the king back to our camp."

Someone hands him a water skin, he is wrapped in a blanket, helped to get on a horse.

The snow swirls on the darkening plain.

\- "Even if they don't need to return to Caerleon to give alert, we will be safe tonight", says a voice he knows.

\- "Do you think we will reach the fortress of Ismere before they come back in force?"

\- "Blasted _Dorocha_!"

\- "Creatures of hell", mutters someone else.

\- "Enough", cuts in Leon and Arthur is almost certain it is the arm of the oldest of his knights he feels holding him on the saddle. "Remember Sir Lancelot's words. Assassins or not, they are beings to be pitied."

The King feels himself sinking. He grips the leather pommel in front of him, desperately trying to fight against the torpor.

He has so many questions.

\- "M'rlin?" he slurs.

His lips tear and he feels a drop of warm blood trickling down his scraped and frozen skin.

\- "Alive, sire. We've got him."

That's all he needs to know. Snowflakes cling to his blond hair stiff with frost and he closes his eyes.

Then everything becomes completely black.

* * *

oOoOoOo

* * *

When he comes back to his senses, his teeth are chattering madly and Arthur's first thought is for the spiritual comment sneered by an innkeeper, years ago.

_He's got mouse teeth._

Merlin never misses an opportunity to remind him of it, especially when the cold produces this kind of uncontrollable movement.

_Merlin!_

He opens his eyes and sits up - only to see the tent and a figure in armor sway like if the world was tilting.

\- "Wow. Easy", says Lancelot's voice whilst his hands are catching the king's shoulders and sliding what must be cushions or rolled blankets behind his back. "You are safe, sire. You'll be fine in a few hours. There's soup. Do you feel like having some?"

Arthur runs a hand over his face, finds that his numb fingers were carefully swathed. He breathes in and out and manages to turn his head without losing consciousness.

He is in a tent. _His tent_.

He hears the wind blow outside, sees the shadows of flakes whirling on the other side of the cloth. There is a brazier next to him and this heat is both tantalizing and painful.

\- "You'll keep all your fingers", announces Lancelot with an encouraging smile, bringing a bowl of porridge which smells divinely good. "But it will not be pleasant. You were quite the snowman when we rescued you."

Arthur gratefully accepts the soup and eats a few bites before resuming to his obsession.

\- "Merlin?"

Lancelot points to the pallet on the other side of the brazier - what the king thought was a mound of clothes.

\- "He's sleeping. I won't wake him. He is very ill, sire."

\- "He f-fell in t-the l-lake", Arthur mumbles. His teeth are still chattering but he savors the comforting feeling of the thick, warm liquid going down his esophagus.

\- "Ah", says the knight.

His black eyes narrow.

\- He's he g-going t-to b-be okay?" the King asks anxiously.

Suddenly, the porridge has a bad taste.

Lancelot smiles absently.

\- "I think. I hope. How ... how come he was alive? Did he fall in the water before or after the _Dorocha'_s attack?"

\- "During", replies Arthur grimly. "He t-tried t-to s-save my life. I ... I don't know why, t-they ... one of them t-took care of him, I didn't u-understand... And then they l-left him b-behind. It doesn't make any sense!"

The shaking has stopped gradually, but was replaced by dull pain in his knee and uncomfortable tugging in his other minor injuries.

Lancelot's face darkerns.

\- "Oh. Well, it does - for them."

For a moment he seems about to say something else, then he takes the bowl from the king.

\- "Get some sleep. We'll head to Ismere as soon as the storm calms down."

Arthur frowns as he lies back again on the pallet. He feels as weak as a kitten but his fighting spirit is coming back in full force.

\- "How many men, Lancelot?"

\- "Seventy-one lost, Sire. But there won't be more. We captured Caerleon."

The king's eyes widen.

\- "What?"

Lancelot shakes his chin.

\- "Sleep, Your Highness. I'll give you my report in two hours."

Despite Arthur's will, his eyes prove just as stubborn as his lieutenant and he drifts back into sleep.

There is much more light when he wakes up, and he no longer hears the fluffy rustle of snow on the tent.

Lancelot is still here, but kneeling beside the other pallet, daubing Merlin's naked chest with a viscous brown poultice smelling so strong it stings Arthur's nostrils.

The manservant's breathing is labored, he pants like if he'd been running and turns aside to cough – sputter out his lungs would be more accurate – pressing a cloth to his mouth.

\- "Easy, easy", Lancelot whispers. "You'll see, the mustard will help. It's not too hot, is it?"

Merlin's blue eyes are not focused when he looks at the knight and given the sweat dripping down his face, his fever must be dangerously high.

\- "When we get to Ismere, I will make you breathe elderberry vapors, like Gaius said, okay? Hold on, Merlin."

Arthur is still enough woozy to wonder when the old physician came.

He cringes at hearing again the hoarse cough racking Merlin's frail frame.

\- W't'r…

\- "Yes, in a tick", promises Lancelot, washing his hands in a bucket and wiping them on a cloth, having wrapped the remains of his terribly strong smelling mixture.

He gets the water skin hanging with the saddles on a rack made of branches and slips a hand under the young man's neck to help him drink. The water trickles a little on the pale chin and the effort needed to swallow seems considerable.

Lancelot lowers Merlin on the pallet when his eyelids drop, covers the poultice with a cloth and tucks up the blankets.

\- "A't'r ..."

\- "There he is, he's sleeping. Don't worry."

The king pushes away his own blankets and gets up on wobbly legs.

\- "Merlin."

Lancelot watches him approach with a look of fondness mixed with disapproval.

Arthur kneels beside the pallet, searches in the pile of wool and fur the hand of his manservant and squeezes it.

\- "I'm here, Merlin", he rasps. "I'm fine. Hurry up to get better."

The slender fingers weakly wrap around his, then let go. The young man's breathing is still shallow, but there is more peace on his face, almost a smile sketching at the corner of his mouth ... that suddenly disappears, replaced by a plaintive moan, as Merlin's hand goes up to his chest under the blankets.

\- "What's wrong with him?" Arthur asks worriedly.

\- "Lung fever, like I had a few winters ago", Lancelot replies gravely. "Gaius had well prepared our medical bags and I know what to do ... but ..."

\- "Is he going to ...?" gasps the king who remembers the very real threat that weighed on his friend at the time.

\- "No. No, not as long as we take care of him. But we have go back quickly. He needs Gaius."

Lancelot gets up and gently hoists the king up.

\- "I will help you dress. We will soon be ready to depart and I want to give you my report before the men see you."

\- "'Kay", mumbles the king, obediently, forcing himself to look away from Merlin.

He is not yet very strong on his legs, but he already feels much better.

Lancelot laces the padded jacket and helps him don his armor whilst giving him a summary of what has happened since they parted at Isulfor's pass.

Arthur is horrified to learn Gwaine and Percival were captured.

\- "If you had remained a prisoner, we couldn't have traded the king of Caerleon against them _and you_", says Lancelot, "but now it is possible. _Everything is possible_. Together, we're too many for the White Shadows to attack us, and Queen Annis will not cross the border with her army as long we have her son in our hands. What will you do, sire? Negotiate?"

The king thinks for a while, squaring his shoulders in the familiar steel protections, camped in his boots. The pain in his knee is almost gone and he has already forgotten his scratches and scabs.

_They have a chance._

_They have all chances._

_They will end the winter._

\- "When can we be at the fortress of Ismere?"

\- "Tomorrow night."

Arthur nods.

\- "Dispatch a rider immediately to Queen Annis. I will invoke the right of single combat. Two champions to settle this matter between us, in Ismere. There's been bloodshed enough already. Many hundreds of lives will be saved this way."

The knight with black eyes frowns.

\- "Sire ... do you think she will accept? She ... She's barbaric. I don't think there is an ounce of humanity or honor in her."

Arthur tilts his head.

\- "What do you mean? All the days of my father, she proved to be a decent ally. I think it was her son who initiated the raids against Camelot. But as he is in our hands I believe the Queen Mother will listen to my offer."

Lancelot bites his lips.

\- "But the _Dorocha_ ... they're... _her_ personal guard."

There is something in his voice, something unusual that Arthur could almost identify as fear, if he did not know his friend.

\- "Speak. What's the matter? You fought against them and you even freed me from their clutches. Surely you do not fear them ... you said yourself they preferred to run away rather than fight to death when they were cornered. They might be beasts, but they're cowards, too. And we are Knights of the Round Table."

He shudders involuntarily, because even if he does know that they are mortals, still he wishes he could have seen what was under their helmets.

_An enemy whose eyes you cannot see is much more terrifying than an enemy you know._

Lancelot runs a hand through his black hair, rubs the dark stubble on his chin.

\- "These warriors ... Arthur. We killed two of them and we saw ..."

He swallows, checks with a glance that Merlin is still asleep.

\- "They ... they have no tongue, Sire. These are mutilated men - with wild eyes."

* * *

oOoOoOo

* * *

When Queen Annis' delegation arrives at the fortress of Ismere, Arthur is standing in the throne room, a huge hall with white cobwebs hanging from the ceiling and bluish-black walls that seem to absorb the torchlight and swallow any feeling of warmth and comfort.

No wonder the outpost is considered the worst place of Camelot and Uther Pendragon used to send here those of his men who were out of favor.

He listens to the metal rattling, the clatter of hooves on cobblestones, the tensed voices in the courtyard.

Somewhere outside, in the wagons that came with the Queen, Percival and Gwaine are chained.

He sits on the throne carved from a block of dark stone, his long crimson cloak draped on the steps, and waits. Around him, his men get ready to counter any treachery.

His decision has been taken and thought long and hard with Lancelot and Sir Leon.

_Everything will be fine._

_He will protect Camelot._

_He will save Gwaine and Percival and the others captured with them._

_He will strengthen his authority over the country and show that he is worthy of his neighbors' fear and respect._

_He will return victorious._

Queen Annis steps in the hall briskly, surrounded by soldiers of Camelot.

She is a tall woman with long red and dry hair, held back with a simple silver crown. She wears a leather breastplate on her blue fleece dress and thick bear fur on her shoulders. The Caerleon crescent moon hangs from her neck. Her features are sharp, her skin parched, her mouth thin, her small piercing eyes like two drops of mercury. She lifts up her chin and her gait shows her contempt.

Her escort consists of ten warriors of the Dorocha who have their hands on the hilts of their strange curved swords.

\- "King Arthur", she says sternly.

\- "Queen Annis", the sovereign of Camelot answers calmly.

For a few moments the silence is crackling with hatred.

Arthur is not quite sure anymore he wants to forgive the death of the seventy-one men who followed him north and fell under the blades of the demonic guard of Caerleon.

_It would be so easy to raise his hand, to forget all honor and trigger a slaughter ..._

He makes a tremendous effort over himself to keep a steady voice as he re-explains his terms.

_Two champions will fight - to death._

_If Camelot wins the White Shadows will withdraw from the country, never to enter ever again, and the prisoners will be returned alive._

_If Caerleon is victorious, their king will be free and all lands north of Isulfor will belong to them._

The Queen looks at him scornfully.

\- You're not greedy, she scoffs.

Arthur breathes deeply to regain his composure.

\- "My men are more than friends, more than brothers", he says proudly. "I won't abandon them, as I know they would not abandon me. We are Knights of the Round Table. It's a bond we share."

Something flickers in the eyes of the queen. _Incredulity - perhaps regret_. She snorts and shrugs, dismissing whatever reaction was stirred inside her.

\- "Very well", she says. "You shall have your trial by combat."

She steps aside and one of the _Dorocha_ warriors - the largest and most broad-shouldered – comes forward.

\- "Here is my champion. Where is yours?"

Arthur makes a chin gesture.

Lancelot steps forward.

\- "Here I am."

They gave the choice of the champion a lot of thought and Arthur had great difficulty in accepting the final decision. He wanted to fight himself, but they dissuaded him. He's not quite yet healed and Camelot has no heir. If he were to die, then the Kingdom and Mithian would fall into the barbaric hands of Caerleon, for sure. If Arthur does believe in Annis' word of honor, however he has no trust in her son. If he fought and lost, nothing would ensure compliance with the agreement. Better to put the odds on their side. Sir Leon and others have volunteered, but the choice was obvious.

Right after Gwaine, the best swordsman of the country is Lancelot, without a single doubt.

The fight will take place outside of the fortress, where the snow has been cleared, a patch of dark ground delimited by flags and torches.

Queen Annis and the White Shadows stand on one side, Arthur and his men on the other. The sky is very low, pregnant with flakes that will be twirling down from one moment to another.

The _Dorocha_ warrior walks to the middle of the arena and Lancelot comes in to face him.

At the top of one of Ismere's black towers, Merlin dragged himself to the window to watch the fight, cuddled in a blanket.

The duel lasts for hours, to the point that any sensation has disappeared from Arthur's toes. The snow started to fall, thick and tight. The two opponents are obviously of equal strength. Lancelot shed the first blood - a slice across the forearm of the enemy - but he was also the first to be knocked to the ground, swept by a violent bash under his left armpit that made him cry in pain. He quickly got back on his feet but their hearts missed a beat.

The grunts of the White Shadow muddle with the groans of the knight into the rising darkness. The sharp eyes of the Queen watch the fight with fierce passion, while Arthur's eyes gaze at his lieutenant fervently.

_Win, Lancelot._

_Don't die._

_Save us all._

_And come back alive to Guinevere._

Finally Lancelot whirls in a haze of snow and sweat, and his sword tears in two the white cloak of the _Dorocha_ warrior who falls to his knees. His sword drops like lead into the black earth of Ismere and Lancelot strikes down.

The skull-shaped helmet rolls in the snow and Camelo's army burst out cheering in the evening blurred by smoky torches and a shower of snowflakes.

Queen Annis snorts sarcastically and goes across the arena, her blue dress brushing in the blood of her champion.

\- "You are victorious, Arthur Pendragon", she says coldly. "We will withdraw from your lands and give you back your precious men."

She raises her arm. Her soldiers nod from afar and open the wagons, letting out Gwaine, Percival and the others, stumbling of exhaustion and almost dazed at being free.

The King of Camelot bows his chin.

\- "I will return your son tomorrow at dawn", he said. "Alive. Dine with me. I'd like to offer a truce."

For a moment, the woman's eyes cloud strangely, then she nods royally and disdainfully.

Arthur walks back with her to the fortress, stopping only for a moment to squeeze Lancelot's shoulder gratefully.

The knight smiles, breathless but unarmed.

His boots are covered with scarlet splashes and fluffy snowflakes, like feathers, cling to his black hair.

* * *

oOoOoOo

* * *

When dawn highlights the white crests, the King escorts Annis to the gates of the fortress and his soldiers bring out Caerleon and take off his chains.

\- "Why?" asks the queen, watching her very alive son get into a carriage.

\- "Because it's not victory I seek. It is peace, Arthur answers gravely. "I hope that today will mark a new beginning for our kingdoms."

She looks at him for a moment, lost in thoughts.

\- "You are a puzzling man, Arthur Pendragon", she says after a while, in an amused tone in which he can sense some curiosity. "We have long studied you, taking your ... _compassion_ for a sign of weakness."

He stiffens - more to the idea of spies browsing his lands than to the insulting assumption.

\- "This manservant of yours... This weakling - an _idiot_, I was told. Why do you care so much for him?"

The king smiles.

\- "You would not understand."

The Queen clicks her tongue.

\- "Probably", she says.

She takes the hand of a warrior of the _Dorocha_ and gets into the carriage. Then changes her mind and leans back to Arthur, nodding to the skull-shaped helmet of the mute soldier.

\- "Do you know what they are?"

He shakes his head.

\- "Children just weaned, whose tongue was cut when taken from their families. Brought up to kill and die at the king's service. Perfect assassins. My husband had the idea of this personal guard, incorruptible and invincible. They were his pride."

She chortles.

\- "They have no heart, no feelings, no honor, and their loyalty is that of a dog."

Arthur swallows his nausea.

\- "But do you know what's strange?"

He follows the queen's glare to something at the top of the black towers.

\- "They kill without mercy any other human being, but they do not touch creatures that nature has… _neglected_. I saw one die under the whip, because he refused to the end to lift his blade on an idiot like the one always on your heels."

She frowns, annoyed.

\- "Do you understand that? It does not make any sense. They are _animals_ \- war machines. Even a wolf would not hesitate to strike at the weakest of a pack."

There is a moment of silence, in which Arthur breathes in deeply.

\- "Farewell, Queen Annis", he says quietly.

She maintains his gaze for a moment in silence, then a sour smile slips on her narrow lips.

\- "Farewell, Arthur Pendragon", she replies. "Rest assured that I will abide by the terms of our agreement."

He watches her troops going away and shudders.

The white cloaks of the _Dorocha_ disappear in the snowy landscape and he wonders how much longer the Shadows will respect their Queen of Ice...

\- "Sire? When shall we leave?" asks Leon next to him, his breath puffing in the cold morning.

\- "Tomorrow", answers the king. "Lets' take care of our wounded, first. I want everyone to be in shape for the journey ahead. How are Gwaine and Percival? And where's Lancelot? I want to congratulate him!"

Leo smiles.

\- "Sir Gwaine has a broken rib - hopefully it will make him shut up for a moment - and Sir Percival claims his injury is already healed. The others are on the mend. Sir Lancelot is with Merlin."

\- "Obviously", chuckles the King.

He feels like a huge weight has been taken off his chest.

He takes some time with his men to shake hands, encourage, talk, tell them they will bring back the bodies of the deceased to their families and that each of them will be honored, promises a feast on their return to Camelot, and then hurries up the steps to the room he shares with Merlin and his four closest knights.

He finds his manservant flumping down on his cot, gently scolded by Lancelot.

\- "Told you, you were not strong enough to get up. See the trouble you still have breathing ... get some rest."

\- "Arthur ..."

\- "... is here", booms the king as he comes in. "What do I hear? _Mer_lin, you dare disobey the hero of the nation?"

\- "Sire", blushes the knight.

The king slaps his back cheerfully.

\- "Thank you", he exclaims with a wide sincere smile that suddenly fades, seeing his lieutenant wince.

\- "Are you hurt?"

\- "No", says Lancelot, squinting against the pain, rubbing his left shoulder. "Just ... sore, I guess."

Arthur nods.

\- "This was to be expected. Rest today. We'll leave tomorrow at dawn. It will be good to travel under a blue sky even in this hellish cold. _Mer_lin!"

The manservant jumps and almost chokes with a coughing fit. He spits something sticky and greenish that almost brushes the King's leg.

\- "Sorry", Merlin mumbles, lifting his big blue eyes moist by the pain.

He is again out of breath, his angular features are sharpened by exhaustion shadows, fever glistens on his pale forehead.

Arthur carefully avoids the mucus and pulls closer the blankets around the scrawny shoulders of his manservant.

\- "Sleep, Merlin. I will be in deep troubles with your grandfather and _my wife_ if you come back in this state."

Lancelot smoothers a snort and is ordered to take a nap by his king who finds it really difficult to look stern.

Percival works with Leon to prepare the troops for the next day departure, but Gwaine finds himself suddenly too injured to help and sneaks up to the room where he settles for a snooze next to Merlin after giving him a check – and making sure whatever he has is not contagious.

Lancelot eventually joins them, just before dusk. He felt a bit dizzy in the courtyard and found it ridiculous. He sits in a corner to doze off with his head leaning against the wall, glad that what comes out of Gwaine's mouth is just a steady snore, not a long series of senseless bragging.

He has a little stomach ache and cold sweats wash over him from time to time. He must be taking ill, it was to be expected in this weather. Fortunately, Gaius' miracle potions aren't too far, now.

At dinner, all the men cram in the throne room. They are together. They share stories of fights, drink to their lost comrades and silently thank the gods that they are still alive, that they will go back home tomorrow, that they have won the war.

During the night, Lancelot is woke up by a terrible thirst. He stumbles out of the room, almost stepping on Percival as he bypasses the sleepers. He goes down to fill his water skin and ends up staying next to the well. The pain has intensified in his left shoulder and also somewhere in his abdomen, and he can not find a comfortable position.

And the thirst devouring him is starting to frighten him.

He is absently reviewing Gaius' lessons in search of a hint, when the king's figure comes out in the courtyard. His steps crunch in the deep snow.

\- "What are you doing here? You can't sleep?"

Lancelot looks up, smiles - and collapses.

When he opens his eyes, he's lying in the room at the top of the fortress and five worried faces are staring at him.

\- "Back to us?" frowns the king.

\- "You all right?" Merlin rasps.

\- "Hey, mate, what you doing?" exclaims Gwaine.

\- "Sir Lancelot, I thought you weren't injured", Leon chides anxiously.

\- "Where does it hurt?" asks Percival, darkly.

The knight smiles despite the cramps growing in his abdomen.

\- "You're all here", he mumbles.

\- "Where did you want us to be?" Arthur scoffs. "We're in the northern lands. There is no tavern around, believe me. Gwaine would have smelled it."

Lancelot wants to laugh, but it's a groan that comes out his lips as he writhes, holding his midriff.

\- "He's not well", squeaks Gwaine.

Percival shakes his head, his squared face strained with sadness.

\- "Were you thirsty?" he asks.

\- "Yes", pants his friend, shutting tight his eyes against a new wave of pain.

\- "What's wrong with him?" demands Arthur, panicked and furious to be.

Sir Leon squeezes the moaning knight's shoulder to encourage him, while Merlin slips a blanket under Lancelot's nape and deploys another on his legs.

\- "I've seen men like that", whispers Percival. "They seem unharmed and then - suddenly - the next day, they die ..."

A heavy and suffocating silence fills up the room, colder than the night.

\- "No", gasps Arthur.

Lancelot reopens his black eyes and a smile tries again to break through on his contorted features.

\- "D'you remember that old woman we met ... when we were fleeing Camelot? She ... she said ... I remembered ... only tonight ... the snow ... I had always wondered ... what she meant ..."

He pauses, swallows, trying to contain the pain clutching his abdomen.

\- "I never thought… I'd be the first to go… but I'm grateful… I could die for you…"

The king shakes his head in denial.

\- "Percival!" he shouts in a commanding voice, as if the brawny man was waiting to do something, as if he was lying, as if he...

\- "We can't do anything" whispers sadly the giant.

He bends down and takes the hand of his friend, squeezes it gently.

\- "We'll be with you", he promises. "Until the end."

Lancelot's eyes sparkle in the glow of the candle Gwaine is bringing.

The five men kneel shoulder against shoulder, all looking at him, trembling with their jaws clenched.

\- "Don't make such faces..." grunts the knight, stifling a laugh that ends in a whimper. "You're scary ..."

\- "Sorry…" wheezes Merlin, his lower lip curling up like one of a child, big blue eyes misty with distress.

Lancelot smiles and reaches out, tousling his hair.

\- "Don't be sorry", he says warmly.

His hand is ruffling Merlin's dark locks, but his eyes are staring at Arthur, for a moment, very seriously.

\- "Don't you start thinking this was your fault..."

Then he looks at the manservant again.

\- "It was you who brought us together, Merlin", he whispers softly. "All of us. I had no purpose in life, Gwaine had no home... then you found us. You saved us ... take care of Arthur, will you?"

The young man nods strongly. Tears are now flowing freely down his cheeks - the tears the others are holding back as much as they can.

\- "Stand by his side, as you always do... He doesn't know how much he needs you… He's scared when he doesn't have to make you feel safe… he'd be an awful prat if you didn't humble him…"

\- "There will be sanctions for these words", Arthur mutters hoarsely.

Lancelot giggles and then a new spasm takes his breath away. Percival cradles his head and gives him some water, Gwaine swabs the cold sweat flooding his forehead.

\- "… he'd forget what he can do… if you didn't believe in him…"

Sir Leon does not realize he's vigorously nodding, his eyes shaded by tears and blonde curls.

\- "Merlin ... send me to Avalon ... on the lake ... like Freya ... please ..."

\- "Promise", stammers the servant.

Lancelot smiles again.

\- "You were ... you _are_ ... a little brother… to me ..."

He shuts his eyes, panting, biting his lips to blood to withstand pain. He can feel he's weakening and there are still so many things he has to say ...

He opens his eyes again and when his blurring sight clears a bit, he sees a devastated face, a shaggy beard and two brown eyes pleading silently for him to stay alive.

\- "Gwaine… don't you cry, mate. Drink to me, okay? Well, don't get drunk ... using my name as an excuse, though ... I will not pay your tab, this time ..."

He struggles against the pain, trying to calm his fleeting breath, the drumming of his heart.

\- "You're ... a decent man, you know it, don't you? No matter what people say ... I'm proud to be your friend ... your brother in arms ..."

His mind is hazing, his thoughts scrambling away in a fog. And he hurts – so much. His abdomen is on fire. He must ... he ...

He painfully focuses again, meets Percival's red-rimmed eyes and feels his hand still squeezing his, encouraging, reassuring.

\- "Percival ... you were my only friend ... for so many years ... my best friend ... you have followed me so far ... ... protect them all ... for me ..."

\- "I will."

Lancelot turns to Leon.

\- "Reporting ... Sir Lancelot ... Knight of the Round Table ... mission accomplished ..."

The blond man blows his nose loudly in his sleeve.

Lancelot tries to laugh, but only makes a gurgling noise. His face is as pale as the snow falling behind the window. His voice gets weaker, until they all must lean to hear it.

\- "I remember… when I first met you… Arthur… so many years ago… we were young… you were just a prince, with such a bad temper… now you're my king… and my friend…"

Arthur, who had withdrawn a little, as if to protect himself against the grief slowly closing on him, comes closer. Merlin shifts to give him more space, slips into the calloused hands of the king the sweaty palm of the wounded man.

His skinny frame shudders violently against his master's shoulder.

\- "When you had no castle… no country… no crown… that night… you made me a knight of Camelot…"

He closes his eyes and for a moment they stop breathing, appalled. Then his eyelids lift up with difficulty, and he looks again at his king.

\- "Arthur… take care of Guinevere… don't let her cry and wither… give her things to do... she's strong, she will be able... to go through her sorrow if she's busy… remind her she's allowed to have fun… make her smile… please… she's everything to me… let her… be happy…"

His breathing quickens and the cold sweat on his forehead mingles with the tears running down his temples and crashing on the black tiles.

His body thrashes, he coughs and sputters red foam. The tips of his fingers and his lips have turned blue.

Gwaine clenches his fists. Leon is kneeling very straight, like at the bedside of the most important person in the world. Percival is slouched down, his hands still wrapped around his friend's.

Arthur does not realize Merlin is clinging to his shirt and keeps his eyes on his lieutenant, so dry that his cornea burns.

\- "D'you remember… that time we had a tournament… and gave the ladies… our price rings… they were so… beautiful… under the canopy… your queen and my love… with flowers… in their hair and… that last… snow fight… on the terrace… we were winning, y'know… Merlin and I…"

He smiles.

This is Lancelot, with his gentle tanned face, his bright black eyes, his waving dark hair, handsome and proud despite the four days stubble, despite the blood trickling down his chin, despite his wheezing.

\- "T'was… a … good… life… thank… you… my… liege…"

His eyelashes flutter down and a last breath escapes between his lips.

Gwaine blinks blankly.

\- "He's gone", he says through gritted teeth.

Leon is crying silently and so is Percival.

A lump in his throat, Arthur holds Merlin who is sobbing against his shoulder.

Outside, the snow keeps falling in delicate flakes, light and fluffy, like feathers.

* * *

**_TBC_**


	20. Number Four

** NUMBER FOUR**

* * *

The sky is so high, so blue, so beautiful.

The sun sparkles on the powdery snow and gently warms their faces marbled by the cold.

Tonight they will sleep in Camelot.

_Tonight he will have to tell Guinevere Lancelot will not come back from the Fortress of Ismere._

Arthur clenches his fist in his black leather glove.

_There's nothing he can do about it. That's life. It could have been any of them..._

_It does not abate the guilt consuming him._

He huddles his neck in the fur of his long red coat and glances at the gelding walking beside him on the path gently winding down the hills.

Merlin is bent on the horse's neck, his pale face brushing against the brown mane, wrapped in a blanket they stuck in the knots tying him to his stirrups. He's sleeping despite the bumping along of his mount, despite the rough cough ripping up his lungs, despite his sorrow, and Arthur is grateful for small miracles.

Sir Leon trots up to him.

\- "He's still there, Sire."

Arthur pulls on the reins, shifts on the saddle, raises a hand to shield his eyes and looks at the top of the hill.

_Yes, he is. A black dot in the vast white. A glint of metal under the glaring sun._

Sir Leon frowns.

\- "What should we do? We can't let him get any closer to the city without handling it. This is a violation of the agreement we have with Queen Annis!"

The king shakes his head.

\- "No, I don't think so", he says darkly. "I reckon he's here of his own will. Let's get him, Leon. See if he tries to run away. If ... if he has no evil intention, I believe we'll be able to ask him some questions."

\- "Getting _actual answers_ will be a whole different matter, though", the blond knight grumbles, steering off his horse, nose wrinkled in disgust.

Twenty minutes later, under the snowy oak which marks the entrance to the farmlands of Camelot, in a hostile circle of red surcoats, Sir Leon brings the man who's been following them for three days.

He did not try to avoid them, gave up his sword at the first summons, let them seize him without resistance.

Arthur crosses his arms and takes some time to study the _Dorocha_ warrior.

He is very tall and broad-shouldered - _almost as much as Percival_ \- and holds his ugly skull-shaped helmet under his arm. Gray wolf fur lines his ash-colored cloak. His face is ... astonishingly ordinary. Weathered, bearded, plain. It is his eyes that remind them of what he is. Cold, expressionless, very close together.

\- "Do you come alone?" asks the king.

The man nods silently.

\- "Do you come as foe?"

A murmur runs in the circle.

_Whatever he says, no one will believe the word of who slaughtered so many of their brothers._

The White Shadow shakes his head.

\- "As friend?"

No sign.

\- "What do you want?"

Arthur has just worded the question when he rolls his eyes at himself: _the mute soldier is not likely to answer_.

But the _Dorocha_ warrior points at Merlin at the foot of the tree. Gwaine has taken him off his horse and helps the barely conscious young man drink some water.

The king raises a hand to silence the whispering around him and allow him think in peace.

-"Was it you?" he asks finally. "The one of you who took care of him?"

Again a gesture of denial, then the thumb of the man comes to his throat and rubs it significantly.

\- "This one is dead ..." translates Arthur for himself, softly.

He scratches his chin peppered with a blond stubble.

He understands the turmoil of his men and shares with them the still raw pain of losing so many comrades.

_He does not _want_ to show mercy._

_Not at all._

But he remembers the gloomy leaving of Caerleon's army and the Queen's words are still ringing in his ears.

_"It doesn't make any sense..."_

_"We have long studied you__…"_

_"I saw one die at the wisp because he refused to the end to strike an idiot ..."_

He bites the inside of his cheek, while scrutinizing the imperturbable features of the enemy. He misses Lancelot so much.

_What would the knight say if he was there?_

Probably the same thing he said when they had this last discussion in the throne room of Ismere.

_"These are not animals, sire. A wild beast does not show _mercy_. It has neither the need, the heart or the will to be nice to the weakest. Queen Annis is wrong. These creatures who've never known love or kindness are more human than her. They have instinctive compassion."_

Arthur can picture him, with his gentle smile and his resolute gaze.

_Has the soulless, incorruptible slave, trained to kill and to serve, decided to change his destiny?_

_Does one have the right to deny him the chance of another life?_

_What will the consequences be if ..._

\- "Merlin!"

He turns his head at Gwaine's alarmed voice and sees his manservant stumbling towards them, his blue eyes filled up with tears glazing at the White Shadow.

\- "You ... killed ... Lancelot ..."

His voice breaks. He sways, shaken by a violent coughing fit, and keels over.

Arthur reaches out to catch him, Sir Leon steps forward, Gwaine rushes ...

The skull-shaped helmet drops in the snow with a muffled noise.

The _Dorocha_ grabbed Merlin and his gloved hands are very gently straightening him up.

\- "You ... killed ... him…" croaks the young man with a sob. "And the others ... our friends ..."

His feeble fists hammer the white leather breastplate.

\- "You ... you ... you ..."

Nobody says anything as they watch the display of helpless grief, but all stares are heavy with reproach.

_Yes, Lancelot died of the internal bleeding of his wounds after a perfectly loyal duel, and he could have fallen during any other battle. But in their eyes, the Dorocha will always be his murderer._

Sir Leon looks away. Percival's shoulders sag. Gwaine grinds his teeth.

\- "Why… why ... why…"

Merlin's breathing quickens, wheezing, labored, and Arthur has no doubt he will soon collapse again, give in to the pain coiled inside his scrawny chest.

The king steps in to end this painful scene, but before he can speak, the warrior opens his mouth and a strange sound comes out of it.

_A strum, a growl - a hoarse, plaintive noise like the whimper of a dog._

_Something decidedly worried._

Merlin stops crying almost immediately and lifts his big blue eyes. Tear drops are still clinging to his eyelashes.

He tilts his head to one side. Reaches out, surprised, and touches the scrubby throat of the enemy.

\- "Oh", he says, snuffling.

The _Dorocha_ takes his hands off him cautiously, as if afraid he'd fall, and takes a step back.

He nods and kneels, arms outstretched to show that he does not mean harm.

The men sneer, nudge each other. They see Arthur in Merlin's shadow, they think the warrior shows his submission to the king.

But Arthur sees something else.

_Someone very tall who goes down to be at eye level with someone smaller._

_To look less scary._

Maybe Lancelot was right ...

\- "Oh", Merlin repeats.

Then he coughs again, clutching his chest, staggers and – automatically – holds himself on the man's shoulder.

The dark eyes of the enemy survey him, until the crisis passes.

_Is he really a monster?_

_Why is he acting like this?_

Sir Leon bends to whisper in the king's ear, but Arthur silences him with a wave.

Merlin's slender fingers are touching the jaws of the warrior, intrigued.

\- "He can not talk", he states after a moment, and everyone knows the unformulated question is for Arthur.

\- "It's because he has no tongue", answers this one, simply.

\- "Oh", Merlin breathes for the third time.

The king comes slowly to stand next to his servant.

\- "I reckon he'd like to offer us his services", he says bleakly, his eyes challenging the man down. "I think he no longer wishes to serve Queen Annis."

The _Dorocha_ bows his head quietly.

\- "Is he a traitor?" Merlin asks, frowning.

Arthur's lips curl into a bitter smile.

\- "Yes."

The young man with big ears ponders for a moment. The rising wind ruffles his black hair, reddening his nose and cheekbones.

\- "No", Merlin finally says in the deep rasping voice that his stuffed nose gives him. "He is a _refugee_."

Gwaine snorts.

Percival shakes his head, bewildered.

Sir Leon and the others are murmuring in amazement and hostility.

\- "Refugee or traitor, he can not enter _bondless_ in Camelot", Arthur says firmly. "He has to prove his good faith. He's a prisoner of war, even if he surrendered voluntarily."

He feels his men grumble in approval and understands their animosity. He shares it.

_At the same time ..._

He pities him.

_He pities the beast who followed them for miles and miles, hoping to be heard before being executed._

_The man who dared to turn his back on all that had been instilled in him to see if - perhaps - somewhere, another life was possible._

_The monster who broke free from his chains because he witnessed a single act of kindness - because he heard a king beg him to spare his servant._

Two men come to tie up the _Dorocha_ who does not struggle.

\- "Wait", says Merlin. "Please."

He leans and the ghost of a smile creeps on his exhausted features.

\- "What's your name?"

Arthur is almost certain he saw – just for a second - the man folding his eyebrow incredulously.

Then the White Shadow lifts four fingers.

\- "What does that mean?" asks the young man with innocent blue eyes.

The king taps his lips thoughtfully.

\- "I think he doesn't have a name, Merlin. He was not ... Well. I suppose no one bothered to give him one."

Gwaine wraps the shivering manservant into a blanket.

\- "Maybe that's how he was called", scoffs the knight. "I knew a mercenary, once, who designated with numbers those who worked for him."

The soldiers of Camelot have tied up the sturdy killer. One of them spits in the snow. Nobody dares to demand the king to execute the guard from Caerleon, to reclaim blood for blood, to avenge Lancelot.

Arthur inhales deeply, lost in thought.

_Lancelot is dead, but the fight was loyal._

_The White Shadows massacred many of his men, but they did it following their orders._

_What advantage is in it for his kingdom if he spares the traitor?_

The sun is high and the sky so blue, the snow so white.

The oak branches, stretched above him, are strong enough to hang a man there.

\- "Four", pants Merlin's pensive voice next to him. "Number Four."

\- "That's no humane name", mumbles Percival.

Sir Leon pulls a face.

\- "That'll be enough for now. Sire, what should we do with him?"

Arthur takes a final look at the unreadable assassin whose eyes are still set on Merlin – out of breath again and burning with fever - whom Gwaine is softly scolding for overestimating his strength.

_"What should I do, Lancelot?"_

_"You already know, sire. You are the king. Trust yourself. Your heart knows the answer."_

Arthur can almost feel the friendly hand squeezing his shoulder.

_He is not his father._

_He is not Caerleon._

_He is Arthur Pendragon, King of Camelot._

He is the king who once was a prince who listened with passion to a man with a black and curly beard explaining that every individual should be able to live on his work and never be robbed by stronger than him. That no one has the right to own another human being. That showing forgiveness will always - _always_ – be a better deed than condemning.

\- "He'll come to Camelot with us."

They hit the road after eating. The whiteness of the vast plain is only broken by the dark thatched roofs and the streaks of smoke rising above them. The winter sun shimmers on the icicles fraying the branches of the trees along the river. The soft snow crunches under the hoofs of their horses and the wheels of the carts carrying the dead.

People pop on the doorsteps of the farms, curtsey as they pass, and Arthur greets them soberly.

With each new mile covered, he is a little more aware of the long list written on the parchment slipped into his shirt.

The crowd is compact when they enter Camelot's lower town - the sentries saw them coming in the distance. Banners, colorful ribbons, bells, holly and mistletoe wreaths are hung at the windows and across strings over their heads.

Everywhere: smiling, grateful, welcoming faces.

\- "Long live the king!"

\- "Thank you, my lord!"

\- "Hooray for his majesty!"

The peasants give them apples and tankards of mead, girls are dancing in the street in a swirl of petticoats and giggles.

An old woman offers Arthur a bright toothless grin, a young mother lifts her baby so he can lightly touch the child's forehead. Boys are running beside his horse, promising him that one day they will be part of his army.

_His people._

_So happy, so relieved._

Gripped by his guilt, Arthur glances over his shoulder to look at his soldiers and his knights, and sees them simply receiving the love of the people.

_They are not heroes._

_They are just alive._

_Coming back home._

His horse's hoofs clatter over the drawbridge, he inhales the scent of the ancient stones of Camelot under the arch smeared by the braziers smokes for years and years, and he finally feels home.

The trumpets sound.

He jumps down from the saddle and turns round just in time to scoop in his arms the queen who ran down the broad white stairs, not worrying about protocol, and threw herself at him in a whirling of shamrock silk.

\- "Arthur!"

She embraces him and he holds her close, burying his dirty and tired face in her long soft chestnut hair.

\- "I missed you so much, Mithian ..."

He steps back just a little, cups her diamond chin in his hands, kisses her with passion. She's crying and laughing at once, her amber eyes lifting to him with adoration and relief.

_She's so beautiful._

_So full of life._

_So real._

He straightens up, washed over by a cold shiver. She tilts her head to the side, arching an eyebrow at his suddenly dark look.

\- "What is it, Arthur?"

He doesn't answer, his eyes scouring the courtyard.

Sir Leon greets his wife, his tiny blond daughter clinging on to his leg. Sir Elyan's mother is checking him thoroughly and he's trying to hide his embarrassment from his pals. Gwaine runs a hand through his shaggy hair, surrounded by chirruping damsels.

Percival helps Merlin down his horse and Gaius hugs the young man with a heavy sigh, giving a faint smile of thanks to the giant.

At the bottom of the great white stairs, Guinevere tiptoes in her long lilac dress, outstretching her graceful neck to scan the crowd. She nibbles her lower lip, climbs up some steps to see better, mumbles with concern.

\- "Arthur?" asks Mithian worriedly, and she follows her husband's gaze. "_Oh_. Oh no, Arthur ..."

The king gently removes the fingers clasped on his cloak and heads to the former maid with heavy steps.

\- "Guinevere."

She turns to him.

He swallows hard.

\- "I ..."

She shakes her head slowly, her hazel eyes dilating with horror.

\- "I'm sorry. Lancelot... Lancelot is dead."

She does not scream. She does not burst into tears. She does not fall on her knees. She does not run off.

She just stands there, in front of him, her back very straight in her velvet dress, with just her head moving from left to right to say no.

And this silence is unbearable.

* * *

oOoOoOo

* * *

It is a glorious day.

On the banks of the lake, all the knights are in shining armors, with their long red coats like poppies on the pristine snow.

Guinevere is standing in front of them, dressed in a black gown, her curly dark hair just held back by the ivory comb she wore on her wedding day.

\- "I want to pay tribute to Sir Lancelot", Arthur pronounces, while Sir Leon and Sir Elyan push on the glittering water the boat in which lies their friend, on a bed of white hellebores. "We owe him a great debt. It is not just his deed that we'll never forget. It's his courage. His compassion."

Percival draws his bow and inflames an arrow on the torch Gwaine is holding.

\- "He was the most noble man I'll ever know", continues Arthur, in a slow, deep voice. "He gave his life for all of us."

The golden shot swishes across the sky in a graceful curve and the flames billow above the boat, their glint rippling on the lake.

\- "He was true to his word. He was ... Knight of the Round Table."

In the silence that follow the king's last words, they all contemplate the beautiful and sad blaze in the valley surrounded by blue mountains covered with snow.

Mithian holds Arthur's hand and tears stream down her face.

Merlin, who was standing by Gaius, wipes his eyes with the back of his sleeve and his lanky figure toddles down to Guinevere, still and small black silhouette, alone on the shore.

Slowly, quietly, he takes in his calloused palm the hand of the maid who was his first friend in Camelot.

She shudders.

Her hazel eyes do not leave the lake.

\- "He loved you", she whispers.

\- "I know", Merlin murmurs.

\- "He loved us all."

\- "He did."

Guinevere inhales deeply and turns to Merlin.

She smiles faintly at him.

\- "I'd like to be alone now", she breathes.

He nods.

Then goes up the bank and take the others away with him.

Arthur is the last to leave.

The only one who sees Guinevere bend over on the shore and weep her heart out, her face buried in her hands, in front of the lake where Lancelot will rest forever.

* * *

oOoOoOo

* * *

It is dark in the dungeons.

The man is sitting cross-legged against the wall, his eyelids shut, his chin lifted to the single beam of sunlight slitting through the basement window.

He does not move when the key is turned in the lock, and when the gate squeaks, turning on its hinges.

\- "Today", says the king, "we sent to Avalon a man who believed you and your kin were not monsters."

The White Shadow does not blink.

\- "Give me _one_ good reason not you execute you to relief his widow from her grief."

The prisoner does not flinch.

Arthur crosses his arms and sighs, leaning against the oozing wall of the jail.

\- "Have you come here to die, Number Four? Because if that's the case, let me tell you it won't happen."

The _Dorocha_ warrior cracks an eye open.

And he smiles for the very first time.

_It is a strange and croaked smile. A bit like a beast lip-smacking._

He has bad teeth and the unusual grin makes him scrunch up his nose and squint his eyes.

\- "You'd give the creeps to a veteran", Arthur tells him, shaking his head. "I really don't get it. You don't even look like a cat."

He whistles and the guards let through his servant.

Merlin comes in the cell and squats in front of the prisoner.

His blue eyes look at him for a long time before he speaks.

\- "Hello", he ventures at last.

He puts his slender fingers on the scruffy throat of the man and chuckles quietly when it vibrates with the inarticulate but definitely friendly strum that answers his greeting.

\- "Welcome to Camelot, Number Four."

There is no hint of bitterness in his voice.

A life ended, but another begins.

* * *

_**TBC**_

_**Next chapter : PROMISES**_

* * *

**_Sorry. It wasn't a very comforting chapter._**

**_And what's coming next will probably make you hate me deeply... (I don't mind, as long as you tell me why, though. And keep reading, too. ^^) Word of advice: do not read "Promises" whilst listening to _Merlin_ BBC ost "Freya"... I'm not to be held responsible for whatever happens to you if you try._**

**_And as for your questions : Lancelot _is_ dead and won't ever come back (I'm just as devastated as you are, just rewatched S1E5 and cried to see him so young and full of hope... silly me). He died of a ruptured spleen, a very common injury for the knights, at the time (believe my HOURS of research on middle-age medical records). Oh, and by the way, you can heal pneumonia with mustard poultices (among other things) and they knew mustard (do you want their recipe ?). There is no magic in this story... or, more exactly, there is no proper sorcellery. But there is at least one moment when the characters will face something you could call magic... or a miracle._**

**_We're left with two arcs after "Promises" so if you guys'd like to get a nice oneshot-kind-of-chapter all fluffy and happy before we head into darkness and epic and oh-my-gosh-it's-the-end chapters, tell me which episodes we never got to see and I'll try to make a nice picnic bundle with your ideas (I heard the sigh about Lamia... ^^)_**

* * *

_**We've hit the 100 reviews mark! I am SO GRATEFUL.**_

_**This is the very first time I get a hundred review on an English fic - and only the second time I actually get to 100!**_

_**THANK YOU A BILLION TIMES !** _

_**Now, if we get to 149 (I can dream big, can't I?) before the end, I'll write the 150th reviewer a one-shot based on any prompt he/she'd like...**_

_**YOU, MY DEAR READERS, ARE JUST THE BEST WRITER MUSE EVER.**_

_**PS : Oh, how do you like Number Four ? He popped out of nowhere after one of your reviews...**_


	21. Promises (PART 1)

**PROMISES**

**(_Part I_)**

* * *

It takes time to adjust with Lancelot's absence.

The memory of his presence is everywhere in the castle.

The empty rack in the armory, his long fine writing on so many reports, his horse pawing in the stables, the large double window on the ground floor where he used to sit to read his epic poetry books.

Walking in the hallways, on the training ground, at the banquet table, they keep expecting to meet his smile, hear his deep and warm voice, see him coming towards them.

He is gone and yet life goes on.

They do not forget, but gradually the pain becomes duller, tender, more distant.

Until they laugh again, start on new projects - and that is how they honor his memory.

It is for Guinevere that this is the most difficult and Arthur understands when she asks if she could leave the court for some time. He offers to send her to the seaside, to his uncle Agravaine's estate and the young woman gratefully accepts. It will keep her busy to take care of Morgana to whom she was close as a sister before the siege of Camelot. It will be a link to the past without the suffering of reminding her constantly of her husband's loss. The opportunity to be helpful, but also to heal her pain.

Merlin and Mithian hug her, promise to write often and stay on the road until the small escort disappears in the distance.

Days are going by, the snow melts.

Sir Leon took over as Commander and it is Gwaine, unexpectedly, who becomes his Second, proving that he can be wise and disciplined when he wants to. Arthur thought Percival would naturally inherit the position, but the brawny man has found something else to do.

Something which only _he_ can handle.

_Number Four._

Arthur was very hesitant, at first.

He knows the fierce hatred his men have against the White Shadow. Gwaine refuses to address the issue of the former assassin. His advisors disapprove the presence of the prisoner in the jails of Camelot and Sir Leon said flatly that he would resign if the king required him to interact with the man from Caerleon.

But Percival cocked his head to the side thoughtfully when Arthur explained his theory - and the progress Merlin had made to communicate with the _Dorocha_ warrior. The giant is the only one to believe that Number four _really_ wants to change sides - the only one to imagine what the king envisions when he watches his servant squatting in the cell in front of the monster.

The one who killed for those who made him a beast will become a man willing to die for those who treat him humanely.

Percival has sworn allegiance to Arthur and trusts Merlin's instincts just like he does for the stars' pattern. But most of all, he believes in Lancelot, and he knows that _he_ would approve.

So he volunteered to go with Merlin in the cell and to monitor the heavily chained prisoner when the servant asked if he could take him out. Number four has not tried to escape once. He did not flinch when they crossed the courtyard under the hostile gaze of the soldiers, looked up once standing in the meadow outside the city walls and let the sun caress his expressionless face.

Merlin was babbling, pointing to the clouds in the blue sky and, at some point, the brawny knight saw something that looked like a spark of fondness in the corner of the eye of the enemy.

This is what made him decide. He spoke about it first with the king, then the next day, he took two training staffs, fixed the chain in a ring on the edge of the moat, and offered Number four to spar with him.

Merlin perched on a big stone to watch them.

The White Shadow stared at Percival as to probe his intentions - it would be so easy to kill the prisoner accidentally and some have already tried to. Sometimes he is not brought any food, other days he is beaten on the straw of the cell. His jailers spit as they close the gates, hiss that it won't be long before he goes to the other damned souls on the other side of the veil.

He gives it very little concern. Abuse is all he has known.

What only matters is the visit of the frail young man with the sincere blue eyes.

Merlin's slender fingers brush against his throat and Number Four purrs in response.

Just like he did when he was a child, so long ago. Just like when his brothers and him lived in the hovel, covered in blood, mud, tears, and every day had to kill or die. When the door creaked, pushed by the slave who brought them food, the little human-dogs squealed softly. The old guard who had childish eyes patted gently their shaggy heads, telling them stories of dragons, unicorns, and a world where they would be free.

Then one day the weapons master surprised the simpleton nursing the wound of one of the young soldiers. And he killed him.

So they swore, with all the strength of their mutilated vocal cords.

And they grew up. They slaughtered, they slayed, they murdered, never feeling the same as the humans who fell under their swords. But they never touched those who had the same gaze lost in a dream.

When they were sent across the border, they quickly heard of the strange ruler of Camelot. A king-knight, whose strength and skill in all arts of war was unmatched. A strange monarch, more concerned about the welfare of his people than of etiquette and propriety.

But they did not believe those who told them Arthur Pendragon was followed around by a gangly idiot whom he treated like a brother.

What humans do did not matter to them.

But that night, by the frozen lake, the king's scream echoed in the night.

_\- "Please spare my manservant! He's just a simple-minded fool... He doesn't deserve to die like this..."_

So the story was true.

Number Four decided to believe in it.

He would die later.

He would die if it was his fate.

But he wanted to see. He wanted to understand. He wanted to follow the king who would never have hit the childish old man and take their guardian angel away from the puppies.

_The king whom Merlin serves and loves._

When he accepts the staff Percival is handing him, his dark eyes weight the giant. If he has to kill to survive, he will.

\- "He won't hurt you", Merlin promises with his sincere big blue eyes.

\- "He's right", adds Percival. "I just thought you might feel rusty after all these weeks in the dungeons and perhaps you'd like to stretch a bit."

He steps back, goes into battle position. The _Dorocha_ warrior nods and waits.

When Percival attacks, he sends him to the ground with a single stroke. The chains rattle at his ankles and a drop of sweat runs down the side of his face.

The brawny knight gets up and gives him a broad friendly smile.

\- "Not bad", he says.

And he charges again.

After one hour, both of them are panting and sore, but Percival seems satisfied and the Caerleon's man does not show it, but he enjoyed the game.

After a week, the spar in the meadow outside the ramparts has become something regular.

Arthur watches it, once, his arms crossed, and nods at the end.

\- "Well done, Percival", he says soberly.

He pats Merlin's shoulder and starting from that day, leaves the giant to manage the prisoner.

His servant continues his visits to Number four. He thought a lot about it and found the man a name - a _real_ name – that he gave him solemnly.

_Derian._

Percival has approved of the name and he also stepped up the day Merlin mentioned it in the armory and was thrown a dozen hurtful comments and several boots and gauntlets across the room.

\- "It's not _him_ who killed Lancelot!" yelped the young man, his blue eyes frightened by the general animosity.

Sir Leon stopped the tumult with a stern glance and warned the servant the White Shadow was never again to be mentioned in _his_ armory.

Gwaine said nothing, but he came to watch the combat between Percival and the _Dorocha_ warrior, the next day. And later, while they were watching Merlin polishing the king's armor, sitting cross-legged next to the shackled killer who was taking a nap in the grass, the old vagabond dropped a disapproving growl.

\- "You know it's only a wild animal. Some day he will betray us, as he betrayed Caerleon. And that day, Merlin will have his heart broken ..."

\- "Can't you just try to believe in it, Gwaine?" gently asked his friend.

\- "No. I'm not blind, Percival. The world Arthur's building is too beautiful to be left alone. There's got to be at least a thousand reasons out there for people to destroy it. I will not let that happen. When the day comes this dog bares his fangs again, I'll be there and I'll kill him."

He left and the brawny man stayed alone, lost in thoughts.

_Maybe__ Gwaine is right._

_Maybe they__ are fools._

_Arthur's kingdom__ is an utopia._

_But is__ it so wrong to believe in it? To work for it to become a reality? To hope as things change, people become different?_

They have never been so close to get there.

King Lot succeeded to Cenred and submits to the authority of Camelot. The friendship of Nemeth is acquired, obviously. Bayard renewed towards Arthur the alliances established between his father and the Kingdom of Mercia. Queen Annis signed a peace treaty in Ismere.

Of the five great kingdoms, only remains Odin, southeast.

This allegiance will be the most difficult to obtain. The king hates Arthur deeply because he killed his son in a duel, years ago. Odin waits for a sign of weakness to leap with open claws on Camelot.

And then there are all the other realms of the north, the warlords not subjected to any authority, the mercenaries who are neck and neck with the nobles.

Among the most powerful, Tir Mor, Tregor, Elmet, Gawant have already pledged to the crown of Camelot.

_Albion is almost here, almost visible, almost palpable._

Arthur contemplates the maps every day, he caresses with the flat of his hand the names of the states already belonging to him, muttering to himself as he works on future strategies.

He dreams of it at night and Mithian gently laughs at him when he opens his eyes, a little bewildered, and realizes that he is not about to sign his last treaty on top of a windy hill, but in his apartments in Camelot.

He turns his head and she is here, snuggled in the large soft bed, her long raven hair spread on the embroidered pillows.

The sun streams timidly through the window and a crisp breeze stirs the long curtains. He hears birds chirping, bells in the distance, voices of servants in the courtyard. There is a bouquet of roses on the table next to the scrolls he studied last night.

He is at home.

He props himself on an elbow, puts his chin in his palm, reaches out to brush away a wavy curl falling over his wife's forehead.

\- "Tell me about Albion", she prays. "What will we do when you have the loyalty of all on these lands?"

He never tires of telling her.

\- "We will go beyond the _Great Seas of Meredor_ on big ships ..."

\- "... With a dragon-shaped bow", chimes in the Queen.

\- "Majestic vessels with red sails and golden banners", Arthur nods. "We will travel everywhere, even further than Lancelot has gone. Men are born of all shapes and colors. We will go meet them, we'll learn their traditions and ways ..."

Sitting at peasants' tables for lunch made him discover how bringing different minds and varied knowledge together could prove rewarding. A Knight keen on mechanic found himself one day sandwiched between a blacksmith and a landowner and these three have revolutionized the irrigation system of the farm properties west of Camelot.

Geoffrey of Monmouth came once to the oak tree under which Arthur sits to give his audiences to the people when the weather is nice (if it rains, he takes refuge in a barn and there is nothing stranger than judging inheritances or settle disputes under the velvet gaze of a pair of cows). The advisor saw a group of children tiptoeing to look at the notes taken by Sir Leon. One of the kids traced spirals in the dust and the old man wondered what would happen if the commoners were given a little education. He realized he already knew - he spent more time than anyone debating with Lancelot over law improvements.

Maybe if others like him were taught from childhood, they could improve their condition, develop values to culture and decency, fight the poverty often caused by their ignorance and so the kingdom would be flourishing even more...

It was a revolutionary idea and it reminded him of a certain young man banished by Uther, but the old librarian was carried away by Arthur's enthusiasm.

He convinced - with difficulty - the rest of the council and with the consent of the king, instituted a class twice a week in the lower town. More and more students of all ages are coming, and when he visits the teacher, he sometimes finds himself deciphering gambling debts or giving a lesson to brats with running noses - him, the most literate man of Camelot.

The world is changing.

The wind blows and Arthur is the one who leads them in that direction with his passion for the people and his taste for adventure.

\- "How far will we go?"

\- "To the ends of the world, to see the place where the waters flow out of the plate", the king says with bright eyes.

Merlin earnestly believes it is true.

\- "The world is round", chuckles Mithian.

\- "Then we will walk upside down and we will see lions and houses with peaked roofs. You will wear baggy pants that'll show your ankles, and veils with sequins, like the dancers on this engraving the silk traders showed us."

\- "Arthur Pendragon, this is so very naughty!" giggles the queen, hiding her blushing cheeks under the sheet.

He slips his hands under the covers, tickles her and she squirms, laughing.

It musses up her white nightgown and her bare shoulders draw out of the lace ruffles. The blond man follows the curve of her graceful neck with his fingertips, lightly touches the quivering breasts, leans to kiss the soft lips slightly parted.

\- "We will make this world a place where all have the right to live and be happy", he promises in a whisper.

Mithian ties her arms around the king's neck, her amber eyes filled with love.

The spring sun bathes the bedroom. The breeze is rippling in the creamy curtains of the four-poster bed. The roses petals crumble on the wooden table. Above the white towers of the castle, the blue sky is immense.

Life is made of small joys and great sorrows, hard work and pursuit of your dreams, friendship and regrets, and _sometimes_ moments of pure bliss.

It's been almost six months since Ismere when Guinevere's letter arrives, saying she is coming back to Camelot.

Mithian and Merlin spend the whole day on the ramparts, the day she is due. When they spot her lilac cloak and her curly brown hair down the main street, they run down the stairs and across the courtyard to the drawbridge where they finally stop, panting, under the great arch that marks the castle entrance.

Guinevere is here, standing in the street with her bag in her hand like a mere servant and a shy smile lights up her face when she sees them.

Merlin scoops her up with a cry of joy and waltzes with her in his arms. She laughs and gently struggles for him to put her down.

\- "You've grown up _again_", she appraises. "You are on your way to top up Percival!"

Merlin beams.

\- And I'm almost as strong as Arthur, now", he says proudly. "Gwaine teaches me to wield a sword."

_He has changed but he's the same._

_Big grin, big ears, big heart._

_A beacon in the darkness of the world._

Guinevere turns to Mithian and does not have time to curtsey, because the latter surprises her by launching her frail frame in the arms of her lady-in-waiting.

\- "I missed you so much!" mumbles the queen. "I'm so glad you're back ..."

Guinevere hugs her, closing her eyes.

She thought coming back would be so painful she would regret it the moment she set foot in Camelot, but it is not true.

She is where she belongs.

\- "Don't cry, Guinevere", Merlin says, a little worried.

Mithian steps back and her amber eyes scan her friend.

Guinevere wipes the corner of her eye quickly and smiles.

\- "I won't cry", she promises. "I'm fine. I feel better."

They nod, each take one of her hand and they lead her inside. Merlin carries her bag, Mithian tells her the latest news.

_She is not alone anymore._

The knights have just returned from the training, muddy and tired, looking like boys who have played out, and stands in a guard of honor for her along the stairs. Percival and Sir Leon grin widely, Gwaine curtsies with a roguish smile.

Arthur gently squeezes her shoulder when she walks through the door.

\- "You shouldn't have travelled unescorted, the roads are dangerous", he simply says. "It's good you're back."

She nods briefly.

\- "Thank you, sire."

Merlin drops the travel bag in the chambers she shared with Lancelot during their two years of marriage and she inhales deeply to stem off the thousands of images welcoming her.

\- "You'll be alright?" asks Mithian with kindness.

\- "Yes", Guinevere answers firmly.

She hangs her dresses next to his tunics in the wardrobe, then turns to the queen.

\- "What time would you like me to wake you up tomorrow, my lady?"

Merlin pulls a face.

\- They don't want to be _bothered_ in the morning", he mutters sullenly.

Mithian flushes and Guinevere tries hard to swallow the laughter blossoming in her throat.

\- "All right", she says. "I'll prepare your breakfast in the small dining room, unless you'd like to have it in the gardens. Will you go hunting with the king in the afternoon?"

\- "Arthur forbade her since yesterday", Merlin grumbles.

The lady-in-waiting tilts her head and knits her surprised eyebrows.

Mithian bites her lips, twisting a fold of her dress.

\- "I ... we ... it's not ... Merlin, why don't you go fetch your new cat? You know, the one the Steward found in the third cellar?"

The servant promptly obeyed and Mithian carefully closes the door behind him.

\- "It's still a secret", she blurts hurriedly, turning around. "Arthur ... he wants to make the official announcement next Sunday. G-Gaius said ... I ... we ..."

She blushes again, her eyes brimming with happiness but her look almost asking for forgiveness.

Guinevere smiles warmly.

\- "Congratulations, Your Majesty", she says softly.

For a split second, her heart swelled with envy and regret, but the feeling then disappeared to make way for a sincere joy.

And when a few days later the sovereigns, standing on the balcony, receive the cheering of the people, she is among those who applaud the loudest.

Merlin is literally bouncing with happiness, Gwaine whistles with saucy blinks, Percival nudges him to calm down whilst clapping, Sir Leon beams with pride, Gaius is a mess of emotion and Geoffroy of Monmouth friendly pats his shoulder.

Next autumn, the queen will give birth to the heir to Camelot.

* * *

_**TBC**_

* * *

_**So... I had to cut the chapter in two parts because it was far too long... I'm sorry.**_

_**I hope the effect won't be lost, though.**_

_**If you've listened to "Freya" so far, I'd recomand you keep doing so for the second part, but add to your playlist "Merlin Lost" and "Hunith's Letter"...** _


	22. Promises (PART 2)

** PROMISES **

**(_Part II_)**

* * *

The castle is abuzz with joyful anticipation and the news travels rapidly throughout the whole kingdom, like a wind of flowers.

Arthur can no longer proceed with audiences under the big oak without old peasant women jabbering advices to him: "don't have ha eat capers, cardamom's the best, Your Lo'dship, lemme tell ya!" The guards salute him, snapping heels as if he was on his way to war and the advisors sigh whenever he seems lost in thoughts. As for the knights, they do not leave him for a minute in peace with their teasing.

Merlin has much to do, with his usual daily chores and the errands Gaius and Guinevere keep asking him to run.

\- "_Me_rlin! Where have you gone again? I've got no socks, no breeches, and an archery session to go to. _Merlin_!"

\- "Oh, Merlin, could you please go to the carpenter and see if the rocking chair is ready?"

\- This is not the time to sleep in your soup, my boy! I need you to go pick some raspberry leaves. I'll need them to make the infusion before I go to check on the Queen."

\- "_Mer_lin, where's my speech for the Guild of Harness Polishers? And do you _really_ think a plum and a hunk of bread will be enough for my breakfast?"

\- "Merlin, could you be a dear and go exchange these candles, they smoke terribly."

\- "Blimey, my boy, how can you still confuse lemon balm and mint! They might have similar leaves but their smell are completely different! And mint would be quite harmful to the Queen! Go back to the woods. And don't get lost again!"

\- "_MER_LIIIN! I'm _waiting_!"

He trips going up the stairs and scrapes his chin, hurries down the streets of the lower town with pots and baskets, roams in the undergrowth in search of herbs, collapses at the end of the day on his narrow bed without even the strength to take off his boots.

Mithian slips into the old physician's chambers when night falls.

\- "Is Merlin home?"

\- "Yes", answers Gaius, pointing at the loft with a bushy eyebrow. "You should be resting, Your Majesty. Does the King know you're here?"

The young woman nibbles her lips, playing with the ribbon tied high on her waist, under which her honeydew green dress shows a gentle curve.

\- "Arthur's in a council that will finish late", she pouts, crossing the room.

\- "Another good reason for you to leave. He will worry if he does not find you when he comes back."

She does not listen, pleats up her ample percale skirts and lightly climbs the few steps to the small room. She coos tenderly when she pushes the door.

\- "Oh, Merlin ..."

Gaius clears his throat.

\- "What is it, Your Highness?"

The queen sneaks into the loft, pulls off the boots of the manservant who's drooling, sprawled out flat with his mouth half open. The old man comes upstairs and can't hide a smile, his hands folded on his chest.

\- "He doesn't get any time to rest, this one ..." says the young woman fondly, sitting at the head of the bed. "He is so happy to help, he never says no. I never got to see him today ... he went on errands for everyone. I missed him ..."

\- "He's a good boy, indeed."

The evening is pleasantly cool after the hot early summer day. Crickets are singing through the open window and in the distance, someone plays the viola, a melancholy melody under the stars.

Mithian's smile fades and she places a hand on her belly.

\- "Gaius? Could ... could my baby be born ... like Merlin?"

Her eyelashes flutter anxiously when she lifts her amber eyes.

\- "I mean… The ladies of the court ... and others, in the villages ... they've been saying that if he stays too close to me, the infant would be… affected ..."

She bites her lower lip with an almost guilty look.

\- "This is nonsense, my lady", Gaius growls with a snort of impatience at the thought of what malicious or poorly educated people can say. "Merlin's condition is not contagious."

Mithian nods, relieved.

She cleans a smear of mud from the angular cheekbones of the sleeping young man, slides her fingers tenderly in the black locks tangled with straw, hums a lullaby.

The old man coughs shortly.

\- "If the child was born so, would you love him any less?"

\- "_No_", the queen whispers fiercely. "I would love him… her ... no matter what. Boy or girl. Loving to read or keen on the sword arts, either blond or brunette ... But Arthur ... he keeps talking about how he's going to teach _his son_ to ride and give tournaments every year for his birthday and ... "

Her voice chokes.

\- "If the baby is not what he hopes for ... He will be so disappointed ... so sad ... "

Gaius comes closer, leans to her and cups her chin gently.

\- "Stop thinking about what _might_ happen, Your Majesty. Worrying _is_ bad for your health. All is well and I'd actually like to recommend you continue spending time with my grandson. Merlin's smile can only do you good."

Mithian nods.

\- "Yes", she breathes.

\- "Now go back to your chambers before Guinevere has them ring the alarm bell."

The Queen giggles.

\- "It won't happen. Guinevere is on leave tonight. And I sent away all my other servants. Oh, Gaius, can't I stay here a little more? _You_ said it was good for me."

Caught in his own trap, the old man is forced to give in. He returns to the main room and grinds herbs muttering to himself. He does not see time flowing, deeply lost in his books and vials, and when someone knocks, he looks up and realizes the candle is almost entirely consumed. He pushes his glasses up his nose and is about to say "come in" when the door is pushed open.

\- "I lost my wife", announces the king. "And incidentally, my manservant as well."

He yawns, visibly tired by the interminable council, but does not seem angry. Gaius points at the loft.

\- "I'm afraid they are both here, Sire. It's my fault. I should have escorted the Queen back to her chambers ..."

Arthur dismisses the excuses with a brief wave of hand and climbs the few wooden steps before stopping with an ironic chuckle.

\- "Well", he mutters, "If I didn't know them, I'd be jealous."

Gaius watches him going around the bed on which Merlin is still slumped, fast asleep, and bending down to pick up in his arms the young woman dozing against the wall.

Mithian does not open her eyes, but snuggles her cheek against her husaband's shoulder.

\- "Ar'th'r ..." she mumbles.

\- "At least, she's dreaming of _me_", grumbles the King as he passes the old physician with his precious cargo.

Gaius stifles a smile and walks the monarch to the door where he stops him.

\- "Sire."

\- "What is it, Gaius? Do you need a special herb to take care of the Queen? I can go to fetch it in the deepest caves of the forest of Balor. I know the way", he adds with good humor, after a moment's reflection.

\- "No need for such a quest, Your Majesty. The Queen's pregnancy is perfectly normal. But I wondered ... Her Highness complained ..."

\- "Of who? Of what? Speak!"

Arthur has raised his voice and Mithian shivers in his arms. He huddles her better against him, crumpling the honeydew green percale dress , kisses her forehead to reassure her in her sleep. She is so small and light, even with the child growing inside her.

\- "I think", Gaius says with his mother-of-all eyebrows, "it wouldn't hurt if you'd let Merlin off some tasks for a few weeks. The Queen likes to be with him and it's not good for her to be bored or feel alone. You are, of course, busy with the affairs of the state, and Guinevere does her best, but she often attends the councils on behalf of the Queen. Lady Mithian needs company. Merlin soothes her mind and she must remain as serene as possible."

The king nibbles his lips for a moment, thoughtfully, then clears his throat.

\- "Very well", he says finally.

He steps into the hallway, then turns round again.

\- "Gaius?"

\- "Yes, sire?"

\- "The child ... I know there's never been anything like it in our families ... that there's no danger as long as the Queen is healthy, but ... these diseases can show up from nowhere, sometimes, isn't it? ... Could the babe be born with Merlin's condition?"

Gaius tilts his head to the side, his round dark eyes fixed on Arthur.

\- "He could, in fact", he answers simply. "Would it change any thing, Your Majesty?"

The king digests the information, then lifts up his blue eyes.

\- "I don't know", he breathes honestly. His blond hair is a bit tousled, like the young prince who was struggling to find his way, years ago. "I don't know."

The old physician nods quietly.

\- "I mean ... he couldn't be the heir to the throne, if that was the case. And I ... I don't know how I ... would face him. It's not like with Merlin, we've chosen to accept him as he was and ... and-and we love him like that. But ... if it was my son ... if he was born ... with ... "

He inhales deeply, trying to align the wild pounding of his heart on Mithian's peaceful heartbeats.

He thinks of Balinor who disappears into the forest after learning the idiot is his son.

He thinks of his own father, so demanding.

_It is one thing to create a world where Merlin and the likes of him can live unmolested, but is he strong enough to love and protect a child who would have his blood but be unable to reach the standards?_

He contemplates Mithian's sleeping face on his shoulder and suddenly realizes why the queen has slipped to the physician chambers when Gaius checks her health every day in the royal bedroom.

\- "She ... she's afraid of what I'll think of the child", he whispers. "She's afraid of displeasing me."

A chill runs down his spine.

_He does _not_ want__ to be his father. He is not. Does he really give out the impression that he's going to be the same man?_

Gaius lays his hand on the king's arm.

\- "Everything will be fine, Your Majesty. Now take the Queen back to your chambers and spend some time with her tomorrow."

He smiles with that grandfather look which sometimes graces his imperturbable man of science's face.

\- "One last thing, if I may, Sire. Sometimes ... just _sometimes_, it'd be enough. Remember the child _could_ be a princess. The Queen would surely like to share with you the idea."

\- "Oh", gasps Arthur.

The idea had not crossed his mind.

But he puts into action Gaius' advices and ensures Merlin has less workload. He does not need to lecture his manservant. Merlin is only too happy to be able to spend time in the gardens with the queen.

While she can still do so, Mithian tends to her roses, not caring to dirty her dress, barefoot to feel the freshness of black earth between her toes.

The weather is hot and she is often short of breath, as summer unfurls and her belly swells gently.

Merlin runs to bring back water, helps her sit in the shade on the rocking chair made especially for her, then kneels by her side in the lush grass. On the bench, Guinevere knits very fine wool to dress the baby this winter, while watching them tenderly.

\- "Will I have a baby like you one day?" Merlin asks, carefully leaning his head against the bump under the dress - a gesture highly improper that even Arthur allows reluctantly, but that the two women never prevent

There is nothing more adorable than the sight of the lanky manservant whispering words of welcome to the child hidden under the misty rose frills.

\- "Well", Mithian answers very seriously. "If you find your _true love_ and you marry her, you will."

\- "I found her", says thoughtfully the young man with dreamy blue eyes. He frowns. "But she's gone now. She promised she'd be back someday, but she can't, can she? People aren't supposed to come back from Avalon ..."

He glances uneasily toward Guinevere, afraid to hurt her, but she is listening quietly, crossing and uncrossing her needles.

\- "Oh, Merlin, I didn't know", cries Mithian, saddened. "What was her name?"

\- "Freya", says the manservant whose face lights up. "She was _so_ pretty and when she smiled, it made you feel happy, fed and warm."

\- "I'm sure she was very sweet, if she loved you", says the Queen.

She remains silent for a moment, lost in thought, and Guinevere makes a mental note to explain later how Freya died.

The sun seeps through the dense foliage of the tree and golden flies speckles the thick grass.

\- "Why is Arthur your _true love_?" Merlin asks again, cocking his head to the side, lifting an intrigued eyebrow in a way that resembles terribly to his grandfather. "He snores like a log and his morning breath could kill a troll and he is never pleasant when he is hungry. This is not ... very princely."

The two women laugh.

\- "True. But it doesn't really matter, all that, you see", Mithian finally says, wiping her sparkling eyes. "I love Arthur because his dreams are big. I love Arthur because he dares to say when he is scared. I love his blonde hair, his blue eyes and his mouse teeth! I love him because his heart is stronger than his sword. Because he is loyal to his friends and faithful to his duty. I love him even if he does not know how to pick flowers without ruining them, even though he's better at writing a peace treaty than a poem. I love him. You can't explain it, you know, "she concludes with rosy cheeks.

\- "Oh", Merlin says gravely. "I understand. It's a _mystery_."

Guinevere chuckles behind her knitting.

\- "Right. Are there any other mysteries on which you'd like us to enlighten you, Merlin?"

The manservant rubs his head.

\- "Yes", he says after a while. "How will the baby come out of your belly?"

\- "You never assisted Gaius during a childbirth, Merlin?" Guinevere asks after a glance to the queen who blanched a bit at the indelicate question.

\- "Nope. He said I was too clumsy and my big ears would scare off the babe and it wouldn't come out."

He seems quite upset with this idea and they smile.

\- "Well, babies are a little shy, that's for sure", Mithian says in an unsteady voice, rearranging the folds of her misty pink dress on the voluminous curve of her belly. "But I'm sure this one will love you very much."

\- "Will I ..."

\- "Merlin. Could you please go fetch the snack in the kitchen?", interrupts Guinevere. "Then you can go see if the king needs you. That's all for today."

It's Perceval who gives Merlin the answer to his question, later in the day.

\- "The babe will be born like any other creature of Nature", he says, unsaddling his horse while the servant mucks the stables. "Like when your cats whelp."

\- "Ouch", Merlin winces. "Nasty business."

He understands better why Guinevere shot him a stern look and works harder at serving the queen.

Comes the end of summer, crops, grapes harvest, then the first flaming colors of autumn.

The setting sun plays in the white arches of Camelot, streams through the nursery windows.

Everything is prepared, including Merlin's small wooden dragon in front of Arthur's on the mantelpiece. There is a stick-horse made by Perceval (with an actual mane!), ossicles in a velvet purse offered by Sir Leon, books with beautiful illuminations Gaius and Geoffroy have carefully selected, a teddy bear made by ... Gwaine (and he won't ever hear the end of it, especially because the seams look like clumsy stitches).

Chests and wardrobes are full of small shirts and swaddling clothes. A jar of salt waits by a jug of honey on the table, next to a tin basin and a ewer.

The cradle is upholstered with fine linen woven and blankets knitted in a soft wool. It stands in the middle of the room, like a little oak boat, engraved with stars and laurel garlands inlaid with gold leaf, and a creamy veil as sail.

The king and the queen contemplate it, holding hands. The saffron dress of the young woman falls in ample folds on her so round belly, and she has never been so beautiful, her glossy raven hair leaning against her husband's shoulder.

\- "Are you ready for your battle?" Arthur whispers.

\- "Yes", murmurs resolutely Mithian.

Their fingers are strongly intertwined.

\- "I wish I could lend you one of my armor", he sighs, kissing the top of her head.

* * *

oOoOoOo

* * *

When the first pains seize the queen, the king is in a council and simply nods when the servant is done muttering in his ear.

Guinevere hastily leaves the room and Arthur continues to speak, his voice barely hoarse.

He knows his lesson well. He will not be allowed in the room. That does not stop him from thinking that pacing in the hallway is absolutely necessary.

Merlin is there, his ear pressed against the thick wooden door, when he finally makes it out of the council.

\- "The b-baby", mumbles the manservant when he sees the king. "He's c-coming."

\- "No, really, _Mer_lin?" Arthur retorts.

The hours go by exasperatingly slowly and, from time to time, the unruly curls of Guinevere pop out in the doorway, her tired and sweaty face giving them an encouraging grin.

\- "How is she?" asks the King, holding Merlin with a firm hand on his shoulder so that he does not infiltrate into the room.

\- "The labor is progressing well, sire", is always the laconic reply.

They do not hear screams through the thick wooden door and see nothing, but the occasional muffled moans they catch sound of when the door opens frighten them a lot.

\- "Is Arthur out there?" Mithian once asked through her clenched teeth.

\- "Yes, Your Majesty", Gaius answered, gently swabbing the young shoulders glistening with perspiration.

\- "That's good", gasped the queen.

And she went back to her combat.

The evening comes and the child is not yet born. The king is still pacing, his hands on his hips, and Merlin sat on the edge of a window, staring at his long legs spread out on the tiles. They went off to eat – barely managed a couple bites - and Arthur signed a few reports before hurrying back tothe hallway.

Down in the darkening courtyard the servants come and go, the guards take turns, the nobles stroll in the warm autumn evening, the knights return from patrol.

The castle goes about his business, but they all lift their eyes from time to time to the corridor on the floor of the royal chambers.

The latch cracks, making them jump, and what sounds like a piercing meow bursts in their ears.

Guinevere sneaks outside and they stare at her, petrified.

Her apron is stained with blood, she is disheveled and she is smiling but crying at the same time, like a mad woman.

\- "Born", she stutters. "It's a girl."

\- "Oooh", Merlin breathes.

In her joy, she jumps at the servant's neck and he pauses before hugging her, a little scared by the look of her dress.

\- "She's absolutely _beautiful_! The midwife allowed me to help rubbing her with crushed petals of roses and - aww, she is so perfect and so tiny!"

\- "Is Mithian all right?" Arthur stammers.

The door opens again, and Gaius comes out with heavy steps. His white hair is plastered on his wide wrinkled forehead, the thin skin of his face marked with age spots pale with fatigue and his bushy eyebrows creasing. He absently takes off the brown tunic protecting his long burgundy robes and moistens his lips.

\- "Can we come in and see her?" Merlin chirps.

\- "Gaius?" croaks the king.

The old man considers them very seriously, then he turns to Guinevere.

\- "Go help the matron to bathe the Queen and dress her", he orders. "And for goodness' sake, calm down."

The young woman nods and disappears.

\- "Merlin, the trumpets", Arthur utters, taking a sudden breath, as if his brain was only just getting back on. "Go and tell them to announce that ..."

\- "A word, Sire", cuts in the old physician.

His grand-son freezes.

\- "What is it, Gaius?" demands the king. "Why… is there something wrong with the child?"

\- "No, Sire. The infant is in perfect health. I ... it's the queen, Your Majesty."

Arthur pales and Merlin grabs his grand-father's sleeve.

\- "She's very weak. I ... she lost a lot of blood. She ... I fear she won't make it, Sire."

The king stares at him blankly.

\- What are you talking about?

Gaius closes his eyes then open them again. He swallows hard, puts his old hand on the shoulder of the man he watched growing up.

\- "I will do my best, sire… but you must prepare for the worst ..."

\- "No", chokes Merlin.

Arthur stumbles like he is about to lose his balance, then stiffens, his fists tightening.

\- "No", he repeats. "We ... All went well until now, you said Mithian was healthy. There's no reason for... what did _you_ do? Why ? Who's to blame?"

\- "These things happen, your Highness", softly interrupts the physician. "No one can change his destiny... Please. Go inside. The queen needs you."

He pushes the door and it creaks on its hinges.

It is dark in the royal chambers. The soft perfume of roses mingles with the stench of blood. It is not the heavy musky odor that fills your nostrils on a battlefield. It is the scent of fishy, deathly, secret blood that men aren't supposed to know – and it is suffocating.

The tin basin in which the baby was washed is on the table, next to a pile of wet and soiled rags. There is water on the stone tiles, shimmering in the candlelight.

Guinevere finishes tucking clean and fresh linens under the mattress. The midwife curtsies when the king approaches the four-poster bed and steps out of his way.

Mithian is propped against the embroidered pillows, her long raven hair braided with a ribbon, wearing her white nightgown with lace ruffles. Her face is so pale, so tired ... and yet beaming with love and gratitude as she contemplates the swaddled newborn in her arms.

Arthur sits carefully on the edge of the bed and she looks up, smiles to him.

\- "Look ..." she whispers. "This is our child."

He only gives a short glance to the tiny red and wrinkled little face, reaching out to take the young woman's hand.

\- "Mithian ..."

\- "I know it's not a boy", says the Queen hastily. "But… you will love her, Arthur, I'm sure. She's so beautiful! She has your mouth and your eyebrows too, I think."

\- "Mithian ..."

Shining tears well up in the amber eyes of the young mother.

\- "Don't you want to hold her?"

Arthur complies because he does not know what to do, because he is afraid he's going to burst into tears or go in search of his sword, because it is just not possible - _not possible ..._

He holds the bundle of linens awkwardly, embarrassed, focuses more on Mithian's amazed face rather than on the pinkish onion head that is supposed to look like him.

The baby is soft and warm ... _like a kitten__._

He inahles deeply, looks for his manservant.

Merlin's hand squeezes his shoulder.

\- "It's true her mouth looks a bit like yours, Sire. Oh-oh. She's pulling a face... ah. There, it is quite your pout, when you've not eaten."

Arthur lets out a strangled chortle. Mithian chuckles, but she did not manage to lift herself to see.

Gaius surveys her from the other side of the bed. Guinevere is standing next to him and her earlier excitement has been replaced by dread. She went out to change and the midwife left the room.

Above the castle, the night is sparkling with stars.

The king gently puts back the newborn in Mithian's arms and reaches out to tidy a raven curl behind his young wife's ear.

\- "Get some rest, my love."

She shakes her head.

\- "Merlin, come here."

The lanky manservant kneels beside the bed, putting his elbows on the mattress. His shoulder brushes against Arthur's knee.

\- "What can I do for you, my lady?" he asks. "Do you hurt? Are you thirsty? I can fetch you a..."

Mithian smiles and strokes his angular cheek.

\- "Stay right there. I have something to tell you. Merlin ... you know ... I ... I'm going to leave ..."

She avoids Arthur's gaze, both hard and imploring, focuses instead on the blue eyes misting up.

\- "I won't come back ... there's no return from Avalon, you were right ... then ... you ... don't cry, Merlin. I'm so glad I got to meet you ..."

\- "I don't want you to go", pleads the young man in a barely audible voice.

She ruffles the mop of black hair, like she always does.

\- "Teach my baby to see the world like you do, will you? Tell her to love people and believe dreams can become true..."

She smiles again, leans with a wince and kisses the manservant's forehead.

\- "I love you, Merlin."

He waits until she's settled back in the pillows, a little breathless, then tilts his head to the side.

\- "I love you too", he whispers, his blue eyes bright with tears, offering her his big grin.

\- "_Mer_lin", Arthur grunts at his side. "I'm here, you know."

Mithian giggles softly. Her pale lips are barely tinged with pink and her cheeks are sheer in the candlelight.

Gaius frowns.

\- "Sire. I need to examine her again. Could you go out for a while? You too, Merlin."

When the door shuts on the two men, the old physician promptly lifts the covers at the foot of the bed.

Mithian has closed her eyes, exhausted, cradling the baby in her arms.

\- "Gaius?" Guinevere says in a trembling voice.

The old man bows his hoary head.

\- "The bleeding hasn't stopped", he whispers. "I don't think she will last to see daylight... what a pity ..."

The lady-in-waiting joins her hands on her mouth.

\- "I thought ... I thought you would ..."

\- "This goes beyond my knowledge, my child ... I will prepare some other nettle compresses and you should change these sheets while the King is not here."

The young woman quickly obeys, then bends over the queen with an infusion of motherwort flowers. The lump in her throat swells as she looks at Mithian snuggled in the large embroidered pillows, the so small princess nestled against her chest.

\- "Your Majesty ..."

The long eyelashes flicker and the amber eyes open with difficulty.

\- "Drink this, it'll do you good ..."

The Queen obediently takes a few sips, then grabs the wrist of her lady in waiting.

\- "Guinevere ..."

\- "Yes, my lady?"

She sits on the bed, her hazel eyes laid with warmth on the heiress to Nemeth who became her best friend over the past three years.

\- "Promise me ... my daughter ... you will take care of her ... give her everything she needs ..."

The porcelain face contorts in sorrow, pain, distress at the unjust destiny taking her dream away when she was about to hold it in her arms. Tears roll down her cheeks.

\- "Please ... Guinevere ..." she whispers. "Promise me you'll be ... like a mother for her ... you'll love her ... she will never feel alone ..."

The former maid nods, scrunching her nose and nibbling her lower lip to hold back her emotion.

\- "_Promise_ me..."

\- "I swear", Guinevere articulates hoarsly.

\- "Thank you", breathes the young queen, exhausted.

Gaius takes her pulse and his eyebrows fold even more if possible.

\- "You need to rest, your Majesty, he chides fatherly.

The amber eyes look at the depths of his soul.

\- "Let me talk to Arthur, first."

He nods.

\- "Very well, Your Highness."

Guinevere drags Merlin away before he slips back into the room and Gaius leaves to give some privacy to the two sovereigns.

In the courtyard, hundreds of people are gathered with candles. The midwife must have let out the rumor. The old man walks slowly, his arms crossed in his back, to the ramparts, hoping the fresh breeze of the night will soothe his soul.

_Why does tragedy strike again Camelot?_

_Why Arthur? Has he not suffered enough, sacrificed enough to build the kingdom where all will be happy?_

_Can't he be spared? Only this time ... at least this one time ..._

He puts his hands flat on the ancient stones of the crenels and the view takes his breath away.

It is not only in the courtyard.

It is everywhere around the castle, in the lower town and even beyond the woods in the surrounding villages. As if thousands of stars had fallen to the earth.

Everywhere throughout the country, under the inky sky, people are holding a candle-lit vigil for the queen.

Arthur takes Mithian's hand, unsuccessfully trying to hold back his tears.

\- "Don't leave me", he beseeches. "Please. We can still ... there is still so much to do and ... alone, I won't..."

\- "You're not alone", softly counters the queen. "There's Merlin, Guinevere, the knights, the advisors and Gaius and the people ..."

\- "It's not _the same_", the king moans through his gritted teeth.

She fluffs up his blond hair, caresses his cheek, smiles as only she knows how, so mischevious and so loving at once.

\- "Thanks to you, I learned what it was to be loved ..." she whispers. "You have given me so much, Arthur ..."

Her fragile frame seems lost in the big embroidered pillows.

\- "I'm ... I'm sorry, my love ... I lost ... I only had one battle to fight and I lost …"

He quickly shakes his head, runs his free hand over his face to wipe it, clenches his jaw.

\- "You were so very brave. I'm _proud_ of you."

She looks down at the baby, then her amber gaze again seeks approval from the sapphires.

\- "Our child ..."

\- "I will cherish and protect her", promises Arthur warmly. "Thank you for giving her to me."

Mithian beams at the clumsy words behind which she feels the real and profound emotion. She snuggles under the blanket, nestles the baby in her arms, croons the rhyme Merlin taught her – the lullaby his mother used to sing for him.

Arthur wishes time to stop, right now, right here.

\- "Can I choose her name?" asks the queen. "You had so many names picked for a prince, but we had not decided on any for a girl ..."

Arthur nods, his throat tight.

Mithian's fingertips touch the little round nose of the newborn, the roseate bud lips, the tiny eyebrows puckered in a sleeping pout.

\- "She was my dream, Arthur", she mutters. "I wanted to hold her hand and walk with her on the paths of our kingdom ... I wanted to see her play with Merlin in the meadow… and run to you in the courtyard bathed in sun… and know that she is the heiress to Camelot ... a precious desire that came true ... "

She kisses the soft cheek of her baby, then sighs deeply. She's silently crying when she looks up.

\- "Albion. Your dream and my dream ... _forever_ ... my lord."

\- "For the love of Camelot", answers the king. "For the love of Albion."

When dawn draws its golden rays over the white towers of the castle and the sky drapes in pastel colors, the ringing bells echo through Camelot, slow and solemn.

The Queen is dead.

A flock of doves flies above the slate roofs. In the garden, two butterflies flutter over the roses shimmering with dew.

A sleeping black kitten is curled up on the crenels.

* * *

**_TBC_**

* * *

**_Next chapter, we resume to something closer to the actual storyline of the series..._**

**_Arthur and Merlin have a fight and we won't side with the prat on that one, nasty guests come to Camelot, the knights are careless... bad, bad, bad._**

**_You are SO going to love the little princess' nurse and I promise, nobody dies._**

**_SEE YOU SOON and THANK YOU for the tremendous support you're giving me !_**

**_By the way, consult with a proper (modern) doctor before you follow Gaius' or the peasants' advices._**


	23. Lavender's blue, dilly dilly

_**All right. I was once again hijacked by a stupid stubborn paragraph which wanted his very own chapter. So there you go, everything I promised is in next chapter. Meanwhile, I hope you'll enjoy the cuteness and the... awkwardness of this bit. ^^** _

* * *

**LAVENDER'S BLUE, DILLY DILLY**

* * *

The baby girl wails, screams, mewls, flushing purple with anger and grief.

Nothing can appease her.

Neither the town women who volunteer to breast-feed her nor the cloth dipped in sheep's milk.

Guinevere rocks the little princess in her arms, pacing in the nursery, gives her a curled finger to suckle on, but she can't soothe the heart-wrenching cries. The young woman coaxes, sings, sobs, begs, but nothing works.

It has been three days now, and the Court physician is as exhausted and nerve-wrecked as Guinevere.

\- "We're loosing her. We _need_ to find a wet nurse that she'll accept."

Through the windows of the Round Table Hall, Arthur gives a dark look at the long line of peasant and merchant women in the courtyard, their young children in their arms or clinging to their skirts.

The knights are terribly worried about him. _Everyone_ is worried about the king, including Rodor who could not come, bedridden, and writes almost every day.

Arthur did not say a word louder than the other since he came out of the royal chambers, white as a sheet, the morning Mithian died. He holds himself very straight, leads councils, gives audiences, attends meetings and training as if everything was normal. He does not laugh, does not smile, and answers more often with a nod than a word.

He spent the night after the Queen's funerals in the crypt, alone. At dawn, when he pushed open the doors, the sun filled the hall down the spiral stairs, and Merlin was sitting on the floor. The manservant stood up, his eyes sunken in their sockets, his pale ghastly with sorrow and exhaustion.

\- "You been here all night?" murmured the king.

\- "I didn't want you to feel that you were alone", Merlin muttered hoarsely.

Arthur briefly squeezed the young man's shoulder.

\- "You're a loyal friend."

He had put on a perfect mask – posed and serene – that has never left his face since then, and they are terrified of what it hides.

They all handle their grief as good as they can manage, but Arthur seems to delay the inevitable.

Merlin sobbed for hours in the embrace of Gaius who muffled "my poor boy, my poor boy" in his unruly hair; with Gwaine's arm thrown over his shoulders while the knight babbled "it's going to be okay, mate, I promise" and tried to convince himself it was true; next to Perceval who patted his back, had him drink some water and blow his nose like he would have done with one of his nephews; and even curled up in a corner of the cell where Number Four watched him with pity.

Then Sir Leon crouched in front of him when he was snuffling, miserable, sitting with the cats on his lap in the gardens.

\- "Arthur needs you", said the knight softly.

His eyes were sad under his blond curls, but very serious, too.

Merlin understood.

He wiped his face with his sleeve, got up, and he didn't cry any more.

\- "How is he?" people ask him all day long, when he brings back his empty tray to the kitchen, when he tromps across the courtyard with a load of armor pieces, when he hurries down the stairs with a laundry basket.

\- "He's the king", invariably answers Merlin and they have learned to translate that by "he's bottling up his feelings and will eventually break down at some point", which does not reassure them.

The constant wailing of the baby on the royal chambers floor, does not help to brighten up the dark atmosphere of the castle. People whisper, sigh, mumble. "Ah, what a pity", "so young, so beautiful", "the child won't survive her," and fall silent when the widower king walks by them in the hallways.

Arthur works constantly lost in thought, does not remember what he signed or what weapon he used in training. He eats, but he is losing weight and there are dark circles under his eyes. Nobody saw him showing any emotion, but when he wakes the king in the morning, Merlin acts like if he did not see the rumpled sheets and the smears of tears on his master's face.

Arthur has not come once to the nursery since the birth of his daughter.

Guinevere and Gaius regularly give him reports, but they are growing increasingly alarmed by his lack of reaction.

Until they appear before him in the throne room, with good-but-not-entirely-so news.

\- "We have found a wet nurse, sire", announces Gaius, waddling from one foot to the other.

\- "She is… not exactly what we had in mind, but we believe she will do", Guinevere adds, twisting her hands.

Arthur raises an eyebrow at their nervousness.

\- "Well? If she'd do, why asking for my approval? I trust you."

The old man and the young woman glance at each other uneasily.

\- "That is to say ... if you'd met her unwarned, you could be - _surprised_ ... and the court ladies might tell you ... that ... uh, she ..."

\- "I'm waiting", the king says sternly.

\- "She's ... _old_", says Guinevere. "Forty, maybe more."

\- "Which is not so old, come to think of it", interjects Gaius who is twenty years older than that and looks as twice the number.

\- "I thought the idea was to focus only on women between twenty-five and thirty", says Arthur, puzzled. "How could this one make it to the finals?"

Gaius would laugh at this choice of words, if he was not so edgy.

\- "Well ... it's ... Gwaine. He sort of… found her."

\- "How fascinating", grumbles the king. "Since when is Gwaine an expert in wet nurses?"

Guinevere clenches her fists.

_"Since everyone is more concerned about your child than yourself!"_ is what she'd like to retort, but she refrains.

\- "She knows the song. She must be from Ealdor or at least from the East", she explains instead. "But more than anything, she's the only one who managed to feed the child enough to calm her down. This is why we think she should be hired."

\- "What song?" Arthur frowns.

Gaius and Gwen exchange a pained look.

\- "The lullaby, sire", the old man mumbles. "The one Merlin taught Lady Mithian. The Queen spent her entire pregnancy humming it ..."

Guinevere's eyes blaze and she hides them under her long lashes during the silence that follows.

\- "Well, I don't see why you waver", finally says the king. "It was you who set the criteria chart for the wet nurse, Gaius, I'll defer to your wisdom if you decide to moderate them."

The court physician hesitates, then takes a deep breath.

\- "The thing is… we ... we'd like you to meet her, Your Majesty. Just once. See, the _popular beliefs_ are so... people _might_ tell you that the qualities of a woman breast-feeding are passed to the baby ... and ... uh, the noble ladies ... could be startled by the _appearance_ of this ... not so ... ahem, conventional… wet nurse."

\- "She's ugly. Her voice is ... unpleasant, to say the least. And her _character_… could definitely do with some improvement", mutters quickly Guinevere.

Arthur looks at them with owlish eyes.

\- "And you want to leave the princess in her hands?"

\- "Yes, sire", replies Gaius very seriously. "Her milk is of good quality and, again, she is the only one we have seen that managed to put the baby to sleep. We met all kinds of women, Your Majesty, that would surely have been perfect for the task, if it were not for the child they had to care for at the same time, but this one… she got through to her young Highness."

Guinevere fiercely nods.

\- "She's a decent woman", she concludes. "Maybe a bit - _unusual_, but I trust her."

The king rubs his neck.

\- "What about _her_ child?"

Guinevere and Gaius share another glance loaded with innuendo.

\- "She ... doesn't have it anymore", the old man says at last. "That's actually better for the princess, you know!"

\- "Gaius?" insists the king in a dangerous voice.

\- "She said ... ... he was ... _gone_", Guinevere whispers, avoiding his gaze. "Taken by the fairies? Something like that."

Arthur gets up, shaking his head, furious.

\- "_Never_", he growls. "This woman is a nutter, obviously. And I can't understand _how_ you'd even consider picking her!"

\- "Sire ..." Gaius begins.

\- "Enough!" roars the king. "Get out now."

They obey, bowing. The doors are shut behind them and Arthur sits back on the throne, quivering with anger. Dust particles dance like light flies in the sunrays streaming through the tall windows of the large empty room.

Guinevere is trembling a little.

\- "He looked like..."

\- "Uther", completes the old man darkly.

\- "What will we do, Gaius?" asks the young woman anxiously. "The poor thing will not survive at this rate."

\- "Let's send in our best ambassador."

And that's what they do.

Arthur is not fooled when Merlin sneaks in the room.

\- "Do you also want me to entrust Mithian's daughter to a loon?" he sighs.

The manservant tilts his head to one side.

\- "Come", he urges gently.

The King follows him, dragging his feet a little, but he stops a few steps from the door when he understands he's being led to the nursery.

\- "What do you want to show me, Merlin?" he asks wearily.

\- "Come", repeats the young man.

He takes Arthur's hand and pushes the door.

Inside, there is a thick and sweet smell, the fragrance of violet tincture mingling with the steam of starched linen. The crib is in the middle of the room and the veil billows at the warm autumn breeze slipping through the window.

\- "She's asleep", Merlin purrs, leaning over the small oak boat with bright eyes filled with love and wonder.

Arthur comes in slowly, overwhelmed by memories of Mithian choosing the furniture, trying tapestries on the walls, giggling and calling him, the glorious roundness of her belly growing under her silk dress.

Then he looks at the swaddled baby girl who shudders in her sleep, her wool cap pulled down over her tiny frown.

_Maybe if Mithian had not gotten pregnant, she would still be here ..._

He closes his eyes to stem the burning tears.

Merlin tugs at his sleeve.

\- "Look, Arthur. She's so small but she's fighting with all her strength to live. Guinevere and Gaius said it's incredible that she's still alive. She ate a little, with every lady who came, but she never managed to get her stomach full and to feel safe enough to sleep. She meowed a lot, sputtered lumps of milk, cried for her mummy from the bottom of her lungs, but ... her mummy can't come."

His voice chokes a little and he lifts his misted blue eyes to the king.

\- "So ... you know ... the funny nurse ... it was like a miracle when the princess never stop sucking like she always did before. And then she fell asleep, sated like a kitten."

He bites his lips.

\- "Please, Arthur ... she's a bit weird, but I'm sure she'll take good care of her..."

The blond man inhales deeply.

And like an echo, the baby lets out a big sigh.

\- "Very well. I shall meet her. Then I'll see what I decide."

He quickly leaves the chambers and Merlin watches him go sadly.

\- "I'll bring him back", he whispers to the sleeping princess. "I promise."

He gives her a last smile, then goes out stealthily and pulls the door carefully, before running to catch up with his master.

Gaius and Guinevere are only half relieved when the servant tells them the results of the negotiation.

It all depends on the wet nurse now.

Arthur's eyes widen in disbelief when the woman steps in the throne room.

She is tall – _taller than Merlin, which places her only two heads below Perceval_ \- lean and slightly humped like a grasshopper, with her breasts hanging low. Rough skin, face weathered, a fleshy mouth and a flat nose, bad teeth, no eyebrows but a protruding brow arch, a wart on her left cheek, lime green eyes with a lively and intelligent spark in them. Mittens on her reddish fingers with short nails, wearing a dark dress in rags girdled by a frayed cord, and a black shawl with fringes poorly hiding her straw-like grey-thread hair.

When she greets the king with a pompous curtsy, he must repress a cringe at her screeching voice.

_Seriously._

_That?_

He clears his throat bashfully, darts a furious glance at the Court Physician who doesn't flinch, his hellish eyebrow high on his wide forehead.

\- "What's your name, woman?"

\- "You may call me _the Dolmaa_, Great King", answers the creature grandiloquently.

\- "Hum. You're from ...?"

She flaps her lids and since she has no lashes it is not quite pretty.

\- "Engerd, Your Ma_a_jesty. Well. Tha_a_t place might be where I wa_a_s born, but one can say tha_a_t I'm from everywhere and their neighbor", she adds in her nasal voice. "I'm a street performer, Your Grace."

\- "Ah."

He coughs in his glove.

\- "And you ... uh ... spit fire?"

She cackles coquettishly, hiding her yellow teeth behind her fingers.

\- "Ohohohoh. No, Great King", she simpers. "I do plays. Thea_a_ter. My companions and I are turning daily routine into a stage a_a_dventure. Giving lessons about life through laughter and tears."

Arthur runs a hand over his face.

\- "I see", he mutters.

Except he does not see at all, and he is more and more convinced this woman has lost it.

\- "Where are your companions at the present time?"

She brings a hand to her heart and sighs dramatically, lifting a hand to the windows, twirling in her rags.

\- "Meandering the kingdom, Your Grace. Gone away ... away from me ... away from Ca_a_melot… to the va_a_st unknown…"

\- "Right, got it", he cuts in quickly. "Let's see. You ... uh. I'm told you'd be able to care for the princess."

She bows respectfully.

\- "It would be a great honor, Your Ma_a_jesty. I will prove worthy of your trust ..."

\- "Have you cared for an infant before?" he asks with a wince.

The lime green eyes stare at him and, for a second, he reads in them more than flimsy act and borderline lunacy : pain buried under the theatrical attitude and stagy words to mask the breaks of the voice.

\- "Yes, Sire", she replies simply.

He ponders for a while, his gaze going from Gaius and Guinevere who anxiously await the verdict, to Sir Leon and Geoffrey of Monmouth who look at the woman with dubious concern, then he sees Merlin behind a pillar.

His manservant giggles as he watches the wet nurse candidate trussing up her skirts inelegantly then raising her chin as if she never stopped being a model of aristocratic behavior.

At least she does not inspire him distrust and it is already a good point.

\- "You will have one week", the king says at last. "We'll see how you _adjust_ to the castle routine... and if _we_ get used to you."

She gives a splendiferous bow, arms stretched and pinkies raised.

\- "I will not disappoint you, Great King."

Guinevere squeezes Gaius's arm with a delighted hop and the old man deflates with relief.

\- "Good", concludes Arthur tiredly. "You can start working now. But… just, do me the favor to change into something that actually looks like a dress."

He dismisses everybody then cradles his head in his hands.

_There were not enough unconventional people surrounding him, probably. Why does the wet nurse have to be a melodramatic clunky stork - rather than a plump motherhen ?_

He will send for Gwaine and have him explain _how_ he met the creature.

_Ah. Well, no need._

_The tavern, undoubtly._

_When will his life be less complicated?_

He closes his eyes and massages his temples.

_He needs to sleep._

The Dolma settling on the royal floor becomes the number one topic of gossip in the castle and, oddly, as days pass, the heavy feeling in the atmosphere fades away. The guards come up with nurse-centered gibes, the washerwomen tattle loudly as they work in a flurry of soap bubbles, the servants are constantly imitating her way of speaking and a wind of hope travels in the hallways.

The weird nurse rarely leaves the nursery at first. Then, after a few weeks, she starts strolling in the hallways with the baby in her arms and her walking in long shuffling steps becomes a familiar sight. Her hair is neatly arranged in a dark gray wimple which unfortunately does not hide the wart on her cheek nor the shaved brow, and a white apron covers her simple black dress. Her screeching voice scolds Gaius, coos at Guinevere, simpers to Gwaine who does not seem to mind at all, calls to help Perceval who always looks subdued when he sees her.

Arthur observes her from a distance.

He is quite pleased with Gaius and Guinevere's reports on the child's health. Merlin endlessly praises the progress of the little heiress - and has a huge repertoire of hilarious stories starring the Dolma.

The wet nurse and him are both best mates and arch enemies.

She does not allow him to touch the baby girl, let alone take her out from the crib on his own, curses him when he wants to help with the bath or brings kittens in the room. But, for some strange reason only she knows, she doesn't shoo him out when he sits resolutely on the bearskin in front of the fireplace, by the rocking-chair, as she sings quietly for the little one suckling greedily, a tiny fist pressed against the breast.

Autumn gives way to winter and the king has not yet returned to the nursery.

He continues carefully to hide - _to deny?_ – his grief and avoids confronting with the child who reminds him of the last night he spent with the queen.

_Samhain_, this year, seems insurmountable.

The castle's stairs are adorned with hollowed pumpkins, lit up from the inside. Branches of red berries are hanging on the windows, topped with snow like icing sugar. The tables are decorated with golden cloths and bouquets of flaming leaves, and the Cook plans on serving apples coated with honey and butter on thin wooden skewers. Fluffy snowflakes are slowly covering the blue slate roofs and the servants hasten across the courtyard, carrying large silver trays.

Arthur wanders in search of a quiet place where he could hide until the time comes to preside the festivities and pretend he's okay, and finds himself on the floor of the royal chambers, long before the time to get dressed.

And that's when he hears it.

_Mithian's lullaby._

How could he have forgotten it or not know it? He has no idea of the lyrics, but the melody she often hummed brings back memories just like the scent of roses …

_\- "... Lavender's blue, dilly dilly, you shall be Queen ..."_

He slowly comes to the half-open door of the nursery, his heart pounding in his throat. This is not the nasal voice of the Dolma, it is a deeper one, a bit hesitant, warm and soft.

_\- "... t'was my own heart, dilly dilly, that told me so ..."_

He enters quietly, holding his breath.

Merlin's tall lanky frame is seated in the rocking chair by the window, his impossibly long legs tucked up in front of him, all mop of black hair and lopsided grin as usual, his blue eyes gazing with love at the baby carefully cradled in his slender arms.

_\- "... we shall be safe, dilly dilly, out of harms way ..."_

Arthur plods to them almost against his will. He crouches quietly in front of the rocking-chair, puts his hand on Merlin's knee to make sure he won't be startled.

The young man beams at him as he croons the end of the lullaby.

_\- "... if you love me, dilly dilly, I will love you..."_

In the bundle of creamy linen, the little princess has her eyes wide open and looks at her father for the very first time.

Arthur bites his lower lip.

He does not feel the tears slowly rolling down his face.

\- "_Mer_lin. Stop telling her nonsense", he mumbles. "I won't let my daughter marry a man twenty-four years older than her."

Merlin gently swings in motion the rocking chair, while his fingertips follow the lines of the chubby little face.

\- "Oh, don't you start, grumpy gramps."

Arthur glances around him, quickly wiping his face with his sleeve.

\- "Where's the Dolma? I thought you weren't allowed to take the baby out of the crib?"

A quiet cough brings his eyes to the black silhouette of the woman in the corner of the room, quietly spinning wool.

He greets her with a brief nod, then straightens up, his legs numb from the crouching, takes a few steps to the window and watches the snow falling densely outside.

\- "Hum. Merlin, I have to get dressed for the banquet. I was looking for you."

The manservant shrugs off the lie and offers another of his bright smiles to the king.

\- "Do you want to take her in your arms?"

Arthur stiffens.

_"Don't you want to take her in your arms?" asks Mithian's voice._

He shakes his head.

\- "No."

He bypasses the rocking chair as if to leave, then changes his mind and leans over the carved backrest.

_Was she _really_ looking at him?_

His chin brushes against Merlin's tousled hair.

\- "She _is_ looking at you, you know", the manservant tweets. "Gaius said she doesn't see very well yet, because she's only a baby, but from so close, she _does_ see you. Try to look less scary, Sire. If you can."

Arthur is chewing the inside of his cheek. Then he reaches out and his callous thumb touches the soft cheek of the little girl who stares at him very seriously.

\- "Albion", he whispers.

The baby girl blinks, yawns ... and her tiny mouth curls up in a smile.

\- "_Oooh_", Merlin breathes in wonder. "It's the first time she does that, Arthur!"

The king does not answer right away, overwhelmed by emotion. Then he lets out a small strangled chortle.

\- "Of course. It's because I'm here."

\- "Tch", mutters the young man. "Prat."

He chuckles, though.

_Because this is the first time over a month that Arthur dropped his mask._

One step toward healing.

Merlin cannot guess the last barriers will break down four months later and that he will be the one paying the high price for his king to start on anew.

**_TBC_**

* * *

**_So. That's all for the fluff and quiet, now. Next chapter, we're back to business._**

**_Creeps and meanies and an awful lot of slimy disgusting gory badness, and we won't like Arthur anymore. Oh no._**

**_PS : the lullaby was, of course, from 'Cinderella 2015' (I just couldn't resist!)_**


	24. Snake, Wolverine, Goose, Vixen, Harrier

**THE SNAKE, THE WOLVERINE, THE GOOSE, THE VIXEN AND THE HARRIER**

* * *

The night drizzle has stopped. The mist rises over the hills, strange and translucent as the timid sun comes out. On the ramparts, the guards' breaths puff like small white clouds whilst they exchange shifts and instructions.

Gwaine rubs his hands for warmth.

\- "Brrr. Chilly, today", he exclaims, hopping on site.

\- "April's never hot enough", says sententiously Leon, next to him, observing the surrounding countryside.

Somewhere in the lower town, a rooster crows. The Water Carrier fills his buckets at the squeaky fountain. Hoofs hasten on the cobblestones of the courtyard, someone laughs under the arcades. A maid shakes sheets out of a window at a tower top. Downstairs, in the kitchen, the cook is singing vocalises.

\- "Peaceful and quiet, as usual", Gwaine states with satisfaction.

\- "And I hope it'll be the same in four days", Sir Leon adds.

The young man waves off his hair and smiles, white teeth flashing in his brown beard.

\- "Don't make such a face", he protests. "We're here to keep a close watch."

\- "Nevertheless, this is the perfect opportunity for an assassination attempt", sighs Leon, brow furrowed beneath his blond curls. "There will be so many people, it'll be impossible to keep an eye on all the comings and goings."

\- "You already said that", shrugs Gwaine lightly. "We're aware of the risk, Arthur more than any of us. But he trusts us. And if all goes well, the kingdom will be safer than ever with four new allies!"

He leans on the crenels, pushing his long red cloak behind his sword.

\- "Everything will be fine, Leon, you'll see."

The knight's blue eyes are still a bit skeptical as he crosses his arms and lets his gaze wander above Camelot.

They have become used to this mini-meeting, early in the morning, on the ramparts. The people sleep soundly thanks to their constant vigilance. They are proud of it and enjoy their reward, the daily sight of the content city slowly awakening at daybreak.

\- "I'll feel better when it's over, though", sighs Leon. "The king is under pressure and he doesn't need that. And neither do we."

\- "He's not in a merry mood, that's for sure", Gwaine chuckles. "I would take him fishing, like we did in the good old days, when he had a fight with his father, but ... I'm afraid that instead of helping, it'd only bring back too many memories ... "

The blond knight nods.

Between the two men float memories of easier years, of barely adult boys grilling fish and watching the stars together, regardless of their ranks or the future.

\- "Sir Lancelot would have loved to see the signing of this treaty", Leon says fondly, at last. "This is the fulfillment of _his_ work too. When these four have signed, it will only be Odin and the wild lands of the North left. Albion is at our gates."

Gwaine nods silently.

Then he knits his eyebrows.

Perceval and Number Four just crossed the drawbridge, heading as every morning to the meadow down the ramparts.

The two are just as tall, their broad shoulders in brown leather tunics almost the same, and the only thing that differentiates them from behind is the chain binding the ankles of the former assassin from Caerleon.

\- "I must say these sessions have turned Sir Perceval into a formidable opponent", Leon mutters. "I think he's well above the norm when it comes to quarterstaff combat."

Gwaine doesn't answer, his eyes fixed on the two adversaries who are warming up on the dark soaked grass.

\- "You're still unrivaled at sword play, of course", quips the blond knight, giving a shove to his second. "The king himself yields to you."

A half smile brushes through the shaggy brown beard.

\- "I know. It drives him crazy. Say, Leon ... Do you think someday _he_'ll be set free? It's been over a year now ..."

They watch the flawless and powerful moves of the White Shadow and can not help but feel a chill running down their spines.

_To let the wolf free to roam in the quiet streets of Camelot ..._

They are not yet ready for this.

They do not know that danger is already lurking, hidden under another disguise.

* * *

oOoOoOo

* * *

Arthur lifts up his head and his lips quirk up in a fond smile.

\- "_Mer_lin. You're supposed to be _working_", he says, shaking his head.

His manservant does not even hear him, busy giggling with joy, leaning out of the window so much he could fall out any minute.

\- "They have _a bear_ !" he chirps excitedly, his duster in hand, chores completely forgotten. "And – ooooh… you should have seen this! This lady flipped so high above the ground! Oh ... Wow!"

\- "_Merlin_", the king repeats patiently.

\- "Are they going to breathe fire tonight too? Guinevere said they better not fly doves all over the place, because she doesn't want to scrub off droppings all day tomorrow."

Arthur sighs, amused, then puts down his quill and gets up. He bypasses the table, pulls back his servant by the collar of his blue shirt and shuts the window, blocking out the sound of voices, music and animal grunts.

\- "Guinevere doesn't have to do cleaning anymore, I don't see why she'd mind about this", he comments. "Now, humor me and go back to work. Gods above, Merlin, _every single time_ we have jugglers, it's the same."

The cobalt orbs sparkle.

\- "But there never was _a bear_ before!" he tweets. "This is the _first_ time!"

The king puts his hands on his hips.

\- "I'll tell you what _is_ the first time. It's the fact these festivities are given for four rulers coming to sign _a peace treaty of the utmost importance_. So get your head straight, will you? I don't care if my rooms aren't at their best, I won't bring anyone here. But I want my clothes to be ready, without a hitch and shining, for the arrival of our guests. Is this the case?"

Merlin nods with vivacity.

\- "They are", he promises.

Then his face turns back to the window and to the colorful display in the courtyard.

\- "All right", Arthur sighs in defeat. "Help me get dressed then you can go. And _Mer_lin? I don't want you within ten feet of the bear. Do I make myself clear?"

The chuckle he hears behind him is not to reassure him.

Arthur really does not need to have to monitor the starry-eyed young man during the four days he will have to dance on a tightrope to get what he wants. He will play big and will need to be fresh, focused and relieved of all the castle minor worries.

_Guinevere has taken over the supervision of all stewardship._

_Gwaine and Leon are briefed and more than prepared for any eventuality._

_Even Gaius and the Dolma are well aware of their roles._

So Arthur is beginning to be a little annoyed at the giddy carelessness of his manservant.

Merlin feels the nervousness of his master and his excited chatter calms down a bit ... until they are going down the stairs to welcome the guests. He hops from step to step, clapping his hands and almost trips over twice.

\- "Shut up and walk properly", eventually snaps Arthur who thought he was going to fall and smash his skull.

Merlin pouts and mutters something the king does not try to understand.

_He has no time for this childishness._

He stops on top of the great white stairs and inhales deeply.

_The game starts now._

_Hopefully, in four days, Camelot will have four new allies._

He plasters a smile on his face and goes down the steps with all the royal dignity he can muster.

_If there is one thing that Arthur has never understood, it is that he _always_ moves in a natural princely demeanor._

His red cloak billows behind him and the richly ornate crown he only wears during ceremonies captures the sunshine.

\- "Welcome to Camelot", he greets in a deep voice. "We are most grateful to you for accepting our invitation on this momentous occasion."

Four pairs of eyes turn to him and weight him for a split second before returning the greeting.

The first to dismount his horse is King Alined of Deorham. It is a small man, with gray hair, receding chin and narrow eyes, thin shoulders lost in a fur coat. He spends his time moistening his lips and dabbing the perspiration on his neck.

The second is the Sarrum of Amata, a force of nature, covered with scars, clad in an armor with protruding nails, with a large and bald skull, barely a red fleece of hair on his nape, and a predatory smile. His escort looks more like a band of bloodthirsty mercenaries than a group of soldiers.

King Olaf is a man with square features, a loyal but unrefined warrior. He wears a chainmail coat like his knights. It is not him that worries Arthur, but his daughter, Princess Vivian, whose caprices are said to be law in the kingdom of Deira. She is a blonde girl with a pert nose and pretty lips, dressed in the finest silk, who pouts as she gets off her horse in a diamond haze.

The last monarch is a queen holding her chin up gracefully, with long sleek auburn hair, whose doe eyes are just as mesmerizing as they are calculating. Her alabaster skin is enhanced by the whiteness of her dress and she causes delicious chills just by arranging a lock of hair behind her delicate ear. Lady Caterina of Bernicia is a beauty who is sung by many epic poems and who deserves her reputation.

\- " Momentous? Let us hope so", muses Alined, giving his limp and clammy hand to Arthur.

\- "The last time I met you, you were ten years old", exclaims the Sarrum with a hearty laugh. "Uther held a tournament in your honour. I hope _you_ will do me the pleasure of a duel, this time."

\- "How boring", sighs Lady Vivian.

\- "Arthur, how enchanting it is to meet you", coos Queen Caterina, handing him her hand to kiss.

\- "What kind of welcome is this?" Olaf booms with a gruff smile. "You have us hanging around like the last swallows of summer."

The young king knows his knights look impressive, standing all around the courtyard with their red cloaks and shiny armors, but with the jugglers' carts also cluttering the place, it gives out an untidy and noisy image of his kingdom.

He should have better planed this first impression.

\- "My lords, my ladies, you are most welcome" says the soft voice of Guinevere next to him. "The wandering entertainers will make room for your escorts in a short moment. Perhaps you would like to refresh yourselves after the long journey you have endured?"

From the sovereigns' stares at her, Arthur guesses the young woman should not have intervened. But she allowed him to regain control of his nerves and he is grateful for that.

He takes over the operations and everything quickly goes back to normal.

The two kings take possession of their chambers with a grunt of approval as he escorts the princess and the queen to theirs. The Sarrum stayed behind to monitor the installation of his troops.

Lady Caterina seems quite satisfied with her room and touches Arthur's arm with a graceful gesture when he takes his leave. Lady Vivian, however, examines sulkily the luxurious chambers in which she will live for the next four days.

\- "I hope everything is to your satisfaction. Most of our guests are extremely happy here. I'm sure you will be, too."

\- "Hm. I am not most of your guests."

\- "In...deed", utters the king, trying to prevent his eyebrows from frowning. 'Well, er, may I present Guinevere. She'll be looking after you for the duration of your stay. You'll want for nothing. She is truly one of Camelot's finest."

\- "Then I fear for Camelot", chuckles ironically the princess, beating her eyelashes as she details the simple but elegant dress of the young woman.

Guinevere answers with a friendly smile, then leaves with Arthur.

She hesitates a moment, biting her lips, to tell him off for not introducing her as _Lady_ Guinevere, which could have prevented such an insult, but the words crumble off when she catches a glimpse of amusement on his face.

\- "Good luck with that one", he mutters mischievously.

For a moment, he looks like the prince she learned to appreciate, years ago, then he frowns.

\- "It is all right to laugh, sometimes, isn't it?" he murmurs almost guiltily.

She nods, overwhelmed with emotion.

\- "Yes", she whispers. "Yes, Arthur, it is all right to laugh."

He nods too and leaves without another word.

She watches him go away, doleful, her irritation forgotten.

Then she goes in search for Merlin who is supposed to help her arrange the tables for the banquet tonight.

She finds him – of course - in the jugglers' quarters, raving about everything he sees and everything he's allowed to touch.

\- "Oh, Guinevere, they found a coin behind my ear!" he prattles with delight, showing her his open palm. "And they are twisting theirs limbs like nobody can and do you know? There are magic butterflies in this box and also the bear will _dance_!"

\- "That's very nice", she says gently, before turning to the man who seems to be the leader of the group. "I'm sorry if he bothered you in some way, he's ... so enthusiastic. He didn't intend to."

Merlin slipped free from her grasp. He's now chatting animatedly with a boy of thirteen or fourteen who seems surprised to be interesting.

\- "There's no harm, my Lady", says the minstrel with gray hair and bushy eyebrows. "He has not embarrassed us in the least."

She smiles gratefully.

\- "Is he really the personal manservant of the king?" asks another man in a warm and pleasant voice, as he comes to them.

He is very tall, with satin ebony skin and a neat black beard. He wears a round silver earring and a Byzantium violet cloak.

\- "I'm Myror", he says, leaning to kiss the fingers of the young woman who finds herself blushing a bit.

\- "Yes, indeed", she mumbles. "Merlin has the trust of the king. He's been at his service for years."

\- "Fascinating", whispers the man. His brown eyes smile benevolently. "Camelot is as we heard, a kingdom full of peace and happiness."

Guinevere nods, then remembers the reason for her coming.

She quickly gives some instructions to the jugglers' leader on the course of the festivities, then grabs Merlin by his sleeve and drags him out of the room.

\- "Remember this is a very important moment for Arthur", she scolds, hustling him along the hallways. "Make an effort! He is counting on you."

The young man with blue eyes gives her a sheepish nod and complies until the time of the banquet when he stops, the tray of salt in his hands, gaping at the spectacular entrance of the acrobats.

The monarchs are aligned at the same table and applaud phlegmatically. King Alined looks bored to death, the Sarrum seems hungry, King Olaf does not have much of an opinion about the show, Lady Vivian obviously thinks it is a pitiful performance and Queen Caterina is too busy maneuvering her seat to better display her tempting cleavage to really watch the parade.

While they serve soups and fish, the buffoons produce a big wheel and tie up to it their youngest recruit, the boy who spoke with Merlin. The old man who is their leader demonstrates his skill at throwing knives and receives a standing ovation before giving way to a fire-breather.

Everything is perfect and even Gwaine and Sir Leon are slightly relaxed from their strategic spots at the banquet table.

The meats are brought in, unfurling a thousand rich aromas. Fragrances of spices, perfumes of incense and burning wax scrolls weigh down the air, intoxicating the guests who are not at their first drink. Merlin has a lot to do to get rid of the silver plates, replacing them by crusty slices of bread and distributing clean towels, making sure the dogs do not make too much noise, gnawing the bones under the tables.

When he slips on swan jelly and almost knocks down a candelabra, George orders him to go stand behind the long table of royal guests and focus only on their goblets while the vegetables are served.

Minstrels replaced the exuberant jugglers and pluck the strings of their rebecs and their viols, weaving a softer and more sensual atmosphere.

Merlin is dozing on his feet, holding his ewer of wine. The day was long and eventful.

Olaf and the Sarrum are immersed in a discussion about the growing threat of Southrons. Lady Vivian yawns ostentatiously, while nibbling the quince quarters offered to her. Queen Caterina's bare shoulder brushes against Arthur's sleeve while she plays coquettishly with the veil of her hennin, listening to him telling how his father conquered Camelot.

An angry cough shakes Merlin out of his torpor and he realizes with dismay that King Alined, at the far end of the table, is impatiently tapping his empty goblet on the white cloth stained with sauce.

\- "Coming, mylord", he stammers, rushing to serve him.

Fortunately, Guinevere is on the other side of the room, probably asking for new jars of hypocras and has not noticed. Georges is busy serving cheeses and won't tell him off either.

\- "Um", snorts Alined contemptuously, taking a sip, absently lifting his eyes to the negligent servant who had him waiting.

Merlin casts down his long eyelashes on his blue eyes, high cheekbones flushing at the idea of causing embarrassment to one of Arthur's guests and thereby, impeding the important meeting.

A hand grabs his chin and forces him to look up.

\- "You, what are you called?"

\- "Merlin", he whispers.

_Please, may the king not be crossed ..._

He peeks up and is surprised to not see any trace of discontent on the pointed face of the monarch, but rather a strange smile.

\- "Well, _Merlin_, you're going to stay _here_. Right here, next to me, until the end of the banquet. And I hope you will know to show more alert, if you do not want me to complain to your master."

\- "I won't give you any more displeasure", hurriedly assures the young man, bowing.

\- "I'll be the judge of that", Alined retorts with a cold chuckle.

A troubadour walked in the middle of the U-shaped tables and began singing an epic in a voluptuous baritone voice.

Sweet pastries are being served in silver dishes draped with lace. Alined takes one and eats it in small bites, licking his fingers.

Merlin anxiously monitors the level of the wine in the goblet of the king. He is tired and his back hurts from moving tables and chests all day, but he would never dare to slip out of the Great Hall.

Arthur glanced at him once during the evening and nodded with satisfaction.

Merlin does not want to disappoint him by attracting the wrath of the guests.

So he straightens up and fights against the sand settling under his eyelids, trying to follow the complicated story that tells the song.

Something brushes against his knee and he looks down to pet the bored dog stretching from under the table.

_Except it's not a dog._

_It is the hand of King Alined._

Merlin looks at the man, surprised, but Alined is busy listening to the melodious poem, occasionally nodding approvingly at difficult parts.

The hand slithers up Merlin's leg and the manservant does not move, confused.

\- "Sire?" he whispers tentatively.

An annoyed quivering on the shoulders of the monarch tells him the man does not want to be disturbed during the show.

The hand is fondling his inner thigh, now, and Merlin instinctively steps back, feeling queasy.

Alined shots him an irate look that freezes him on the spot.

The young man's eyes search for Guinevere. Surely she would know what to do in such an unusual situation ...

_But she is nowhere in sight._

The hand creeps under his shirt and greasy fingers caress the skin on his lower back.

Merlin shudders uncontrollably.

He does not like it. He does not know why, but something is churning in his guts under the touch of this discrete but insistent hand.

He blushes violently and his knuckles clench white on the handle of the jug when it travels down his hip, groping close to his groin through the fabric of his trousers ...

\- "Merlin?"

He jumps and almost drops the pitcher at the voice of George beside him.

\- "What are you waiting for? We've got the wafers buffet to prepare!"

\- "I ... I ... my lord, I d-do ..."

King Alined dismisses him with a languid wave, not even giving him a glance. There is a sheen of sweat on the edge of his upper lip and his tendons palpitate under the redden skin of his neck.

Merlin stumbles behind George who shakes his head and frowns, annoyed.

\- "I really don't get why you're being tolerated at banquets", the perfect servant mumbles without concern for his junior's fretful state.

Guinevere is a little more observant and softens when they finally arrive in the small hall where the gilt sugar-plums and candied ginger that conclude the feast will be served.

\- "You don't look too good, Merlin", she asks, a tad worried. "You okay?"

\- "… Feeling a bit dizzy", he answers in a low voice.

The young woman puts her hands on her hips.

\- Well. It _is_ very late and I bet you breathed too much wine vapors", she says after a moment's reflection. "Listen, go to bed, that'll be enough for today. George, you prepare the king for the night. But tomorrow, I want you chipper and up on time, Merlin, okay?"

He nods, feeling a bit nauseous, and drags himself to the court physician's chambers.

Gaius is already sound asleep and snoring when he gets there, so Merlin quietly undresses and huddles under his blanket. There is a big lump in his throat and it does not dissolve into silent tears, despite the urge to cry clamping his heart even though he does not know why.

At last, he drifts off to sleep, exhausted.

_Tomorrow will be better. Tomorrow, he will stay at Arthur's side and avoid the creepy Lord Alined._

The guests are only here for four days.

_Camelot will soon be peaceful again and the shadow gone._

* * *

**_TBC_**


	25. Venom, claws, beak, musk & eye

**VENOM, CLAWS, BEAK, MUSK &amp; EYE**

* * *

The sun is pleasantly warming their shoulders, even if there is a chill in the air as often in this time of the year.

Merlin dangles a cork at the end of a string for the little black cat to play.

\- "I reckon it'd be quite nice to live here", says the acrobat teenager, crunching into the apple pie the servant gave him.

They are perched in the slots in between the crenels, enjoying the time off they managed to scrounge, one after completing his morning chores, the other after his exercises with the jugglers.

\- "I've got an idea", exclaims Merlin. "Why don't you stay in Camelot, Daegal? The Steward's always complaining there aren't enough staff, especially to care for the knights' horses. And Guinevere wants a new runner to be trained because there's more and more mail to carry back and forth to the other realms. Oh, that'd be great! I'll ask Arthur!"

Daegal smiles at the enthusiasm, then frowns.

\- "I can't, Merlin ..."

\- "Why?"

The fourteen years old boy strangely looks much older than his ten years older friend.

\- "I can't tell you", he sighs. "It's complicated."

\- "Would you miss it? Breathing fire and the magic butterflies and being on the road and wearing your toque with the bells and feasting every night?"

Daegal shakes his head, amused at this naivety.

\- "I don't feast, me. I'm working."

\- "Oh."

The teenager gets off the crenels and crouches to scratch the kitten's ears.

\- "Why don't _you_ come with us?" he asks suddenly.

Merlin giggles.

\- "I'm too clumsy, I can never walk on a tightrope like you or throw knives. And I have to stand by Arthur. To protect him."

Daegal puckers a skeptical eyebrow.

\- " And does _he_ protect _you_?"

\- "Arthur watches over us all", assures the manservant fervently. "He takes care of everyone, and he loves us and he never lets anyone down ..."

The boy pulls a face.

He seems about to say something when the cat gives a sharp scratch that rips off the cork from the string and sends it tumbling down the stairs. The little creature rushes after it and Merlin jumps off the crenels to go after her.

Daegal follows them, laughing.

He has only been here for a day, but he already likes Camelot.

The smiles in the streets, the reassuring feeling of a place where people work hard but take care of each other, the beautiful white towers and the benevolent king ...

_He'd like to stay..._

_But he did not come for that._

_Oh no, on the contrary._

He sighs and hurries down the stairs to catch up with the starry-eyed manservant who feels just as much as a big brother than a younger one.

Merlin enjoys the day, because so far he has not once needed to go close to the guest who scares him.

Gaius was not there when he woke up, called at daybreak for a serious fall in the lower town, but Arthur was in good spirits this morning: he gently made fun of Merlin, saying he has never seen someone capable of getting drunk just from wine vapors (_the young man did not protest because he wasn't so sure anymore of having lived or dreamed the awful moment of the day before_), then gave him a list of chores that have kept him away from the room where the negotiations are held. And now the manservant was even able to chat with Daegal a while. The teenager is a dull soul, blonde, with drooping eyes and the habit of wincing guiltily even when he has not done anything wrong. He asked many questions about the castle's routine, the king's habits, Merlin's daily chores, and in return told him about his bohemian life, leaving aside the hardships to speak only of sequins, pâtés as tall as men, lands draped in mystery and adventure.

Merlin listened with wide eyes, gawking in wonder. But when he tells Guinevere, however, she has no time for his enthusiastic tale. She is in a foul mood, trying to cope with the endless whims of the Lady Vivian.

\- "This ... this ... vain and petty _goose_", rambles the young woman, her white and blue dress rustling on the hallway neat tiles, carrying a laundry basket like a mere maid. "Can't someone teach her to behave properly? She's ... _humph_!"

\- "What has she done, now?" Merlin asks, not taking offense when he realizes she has not listened to a word he was saying.

\- "Oh, she just can't wash as anyone else! She needs blasted _donkey milk_ for her bath! _Where_ am I supposed to find that?"

She pauses at the top of the spiral staircase, bites her lower lip and inhales deeply to calm her nerves.

\- "If only she could _at least_ stop calling me "you, there!" she hisses. "Of all the ladies I have served, I've never seen one so spoiled and frivolous!"

Merlin shifts his own laundry basket to his bony hip and reaches out to sweep off a curly tendril of hair on Guinevere's forehead.

\- "It's going to be alright", he promises. "Only three more days. Then people will remember you're a lady."

Guinevere chuckles bitterly.

\- "It's not that, Merlin ... I could stand it if it was only me she treated this way, but she had the stable boy whipped, the guards on her floor are going bonkers with her fits, and I found Anna in tears after she slapped her, calling her a ninny. Problem is, if she doesn't get her every wish fulfilled, her father will be upset ...

\- "... and the negotiations will suffer, complete Merlin in a low voice.

\- "Exactly. Now, run along. Give me your laundry and go to the kitchen, there's luncheon to bring to the guests."

She watches him go away, a bit surprised at his sudden darkened look, then hurries down the spiral staircase, mentally listing all that she still has to do before going back to the room of the insufferable Lady Vivian.

_Only three days left. She can't wait for it to be over ..._

Merlin makes it to the kitchen just in time to help George carry the trays of roasted chickens sprinkled with fennel seeds to the Small Hall where the negotiations take place. He hides behind the stiff back of the red-haired servant and the pillars, not daring to glance at the five monarchs.

\- "Your demands are noted and will be taken into consideration in due course", Arthur is saying. "In the meantime, is there anyone else who has any other comments about the northern territories?"

His strong and deep voice dominates the discussions and he visibly obtains what he wanted, if the way he sits proudly on his tall armchair is anything to go by.

\- "About the Barbarians", asks Olaf, frowning. "What do you plan on doing? Their mere presence is a threat to all of our kingdoms."

Merlin does not hear what says Queen Caterina, who also seems to be concerned about this problem, because the kitten playing this morning on the city wall has sneaked into the room – and this is going to be bad.

Arthur tolerates the cats often found asleep on chests and window sills, or even taking a sun bath, curled up on the throne, but Merlin suspects he won't be as lenient with the small intruder that just climbed on an empty chair, then on the table covered with scrolls and maps.

Georges glares at him and, mouthing, orders him to go get his cat immediately before someone turns his head towards the end of the table where the curious kitty is dipping his whiskers in an inkwell.

\- "It's not enough to just protect ourselves from them", is explaining the Sarrum with his loud voice. "You have to make an impression, mark the minds, send a clear message. Once they understand who you are, what you're capable of, they never come back. And they crawl before you."

Merlin silently pleads for George to come and help, but the senior servant, standing with his arms crossed next to the buffet, does not budge.

The kitten trots to the middle of the table, gives a few strokes to a quill, jumps on a map that flattens and draws the attention of the whole assembly.

King Olaf raises a disapproving eyebrow. Queen Caterina hides a chuckle behind her slender fingers and Alined moistens his lips, ogling the young servant. Arthur sighs, annoyed, and leans to grab the cat and dispose of it, but the Sarrum is faster than him.

His iron grip clutches the delicate body of the kitten and lifts it from the table.

\- "That's what I was saying", he continues with a crude laughter. "Their effrontery has no limits, until you show them _who _is their master."

The cat struggles with an high-pitched meow, tiny claws barely scratching the rough skin, her tail bristling with anger.

\- "They're vermin, have no respect for borders and would constantly be looting and raiding our lands. Unless ..."

The man's massive fingers break at once one of the legs of the kitten that squeaks in pain, writhing in his grasp.

\- "If the punishment is severe enough, they won't try again, believe me."

At the sound like a ruptured twig, Merlin turned spoiled milk white and Arthur could not help but shut his eyes a second. Queen Caterina let go a small yelp of horror, Olaf turned his head away, rolling his eyes, and Alined shuddered.

The Sarrum chuckles, the limp kitty dangling in his big hand, then throws it to Georges who catches it with a grimace of disgust.

\- "Get rid of this, boy. Shall we grab a bite, Pendragon? I think we had enough chitchat for this morning."

The King of Camelot carefully avoids looking at his manservant and clenches his fists under the table to control his voice.

\- "I agree. Let's take a break."

From the corner of his eye he sees Georges pulling Merlin out of the room. Once the doors open, other servants come in to serve them, bringing tin bowls filled with tepid water and rose petals.

\- "You seem ... ill-at-ease, Arthur", sneers the voice of the Sarrum next to the king.

\- "I'm not."

\- "Good. You must be merciless", approves the man, wiping the golden juice of a roasted chicken leg from his chin. "If you lapse once, you will loose everything."

There is a threat underneath the advice and Arthur responds with a polite smile before heading to another of his guests.

He must gather all his will to successfully swallow something without gagging.

The sickening snap continues to echo in his ears. The whiskers of the black kitten dotted in ink some of the scrolls and there is a drop of drool on the map that was in front of the Sarrum.

_Three more days. Only three days. Then everything will be back to normal._

Arthur has to wait until the end of the day, when it's time to get dressed for the banquet, to have at last the opportunity to talk to Merlin.

His manservant's eyes are red-rimmed from crying. Gaius said the kitten would remain crippled.

\- "I'm sorry for what happened to your cat", says the king sincerely. "But you _really_ need to focus. We must not make mistakes. They are dangerous, but we don't have a choice. If we don't sign peace with them, it means we'll be at war. I can't risk _thousands of lives_ for a kitten that _never_ should have been there."

Merlin's blue eyes are filled with incomprehension, anger and powerless sorrow.

\- "They're evil", he whispers.

\- "That's an opinion you'd better keep it to yourself", Arthur retorts sternly. "You will show the utmost respect to my guests. They are of royal blood and _you_ will know_ your place_."

He scolds to keep Merlin out from troubles, but his servant only hears injustice and leaves the room, slamming the door.

\- "As you please, _Sire_."

Arthur sighs loudly. He is dressed, he no longer needed him, anyway. And he gave up long ago the idea of explaining to Merlin this attitude would have anyone else fire him.

But his heart still feels heavy from the misunderstanding and it is with a jaded look, slouched in his seat, that he watches the bear dancing at the song of cymbals accompanied by red waltzing petticoats and the rattling of Egyptian bracelets.

In the happy days, on such an occasion, Merlin would have been bursting with excitement next to his seat, goggling and giggling with Mithian. She would have slipped her little hand in the king's at the ferocious groans of the muzzled bear and held her breath when the teenager walked through the great hall on a tightrope high above them.

_Why is that time gone?_

Merlin is not even in the room to watch the show he was dying to see. He must be sulking somewhere.

\- "Stubborn as a mule ..." Arthur mutters, lost in thought.

\- "What was that, Sire?"

Queen Caterina is looking at him with a pleasant smile and he straightens up, shaking the weight of memories from his shoulders.

\- "Nothing", he says. "I was ... er. Distracted. Please forgive me. You were talking to me, maybe?"

She laughs in a refined way. Her auburn hair is aristocratically pulled up with diamonds pins twinkling in the candlelight, her graceful neck highlighted by a pristine lace collar.

\- "Not at all", she simpers. "I was just… thinking. Arthur Pendragon, it must be so difficult for you ..."

He considers her for a moment, puzzled.

\- "What do you mean?"

\- "Well, these celebrations, all this joy ... It is a terrible thing to find oneself alone in the world, suddenly, cruelly alone. It must be hard to be king and father both. To shoulder all that responsibility all by yourself…"

Arthur frowns, but she does not notice it, busy playing carelessly with the golden clasp of his robes, leaning to him, awfully close, her jasmine perfume intoxicating.

\- "I am the same ... the war has taken my husband, you know. But I feel sure, My Lord, that you and I shall not remain alone forever. We will find love anew. A kindred spirit to share the burden of this life..."

Her eyelashes flutter languorously, shading her bright doe eyes, her satin cheeks are blushing slightly, the soft curves throb gently in her revealing neckline trimmed with gold braid.

Arthur stares at her unbelievingly for a moment, then sits up, clearing his throat. He takes off her fingers from his collar and brings them back on the armrest of the chair.

\- "Thank you for your kind thoughts, my lady", he says calmly, trying to soften the coldness he feels rising in his tone. "May you find solace and support among your people, as it was the case for me. Camelot is a family that honors friendship. As to fine amor and hymen ... they are far from my mind."

Queen Caterina manages a rueful smile, then pretends a sudden migraine to excuse her mortified self from the table.

Arthur does not realize his face is grim until King Alined, who is placed on his left that night, asks what upsets him.

\- "It's nothing. Domestic worries", he answers absently.

\- "Oh."

Alined dabs his neck with a towel.

\- "But your servants are so highly effective", he says casually. "This ... what was his name again? Oh. _Merlin_. He showed rare excellence in serving me during yesterday's banquet."

Arthur's spirits lift up a bit and he chuckles.

\- "_Merlin_? You must be mistaken. He's the clumsiest of them all!"

He absently looks for him in the blur of minstrels singing, fat stuffed capons steaming hot and rich aromas of fruity wine, but does not find him.

\- "Is he, really?" muses Alined ingenuously. "But I found him quite ... _perfect_. It's so unusual these days, I wanted to ask you to assign him to me during our stay at Camelot. My lackey's so incompetent I'd break out in hives if I have to put up with him any longer."

Arthur ponders for a moment.

\- "Well ... Merlin is my personal manservant, but ..."

\- "Oh", repeats Alined. "I didn't know. Of course I would not want to deprive you of such ... satisfying services."

The king rubs his neck.

_Merlin is upset because of the cat, but Arthur knows he will not do anything that could harm the negotiations. Although having a grumpy Merlin in tow will increase _his_ own stress level. Perhaps it is not so bad to part from him for a few days ..._

_Alined is very secret and there's a lining of irony in his every word, but he seems to have a good heart._

_After all, _who_ would compliment Merlin without being accustomed to him, but a sincere soul?_

Arthur motions to George.

\- "Tell the Steward and Guinevere that Merlin is to be at the personal service of King Alined for the rest of his stay."

He leans in to whisper in the ear of the exemplary servant.

\- "And find him quickly. I bet he's sulking in a corner instead of working. Tell him I won't suffer his insolence any longer."

George nods and scuttles off.

Arthur feels a bit better and begins to enjoy the banquet. That night, he goes to bed hopeful about the following day, unaware that a painful scene takes place on the other side of the castle.

Merlin was devastated when he was sent to King Alined's chambers _on Arthur's order_. He tried to protest, but Guinevere had no time to for him, overloaded with Lady Vivian's imperious demands, and the Steward flatly refused to listen to him. He eventually walked to the dreaded room and was ordered to prepare a bath. Climbing the stairs back and forth with the buckets took him a while, but then he _had_ to close the door and stay alone with the so disturbing leering.

Maybe it was the fate of the little cat and the anger rumbling under his ribs seeing that Arthur overlooked the incident, but this time, Merlin did not let the lord have his way. When Alined started stroking his lower back while he was adding _cold_ water to the bath, the young servant overthrew the full bucket on the lord's head and ran away without listening to the furious squawking.

Gaius was not in his chambers and Merlin, nerve-wrecked, could not bear the idea of waiting alone. He picked up the basket padded cloths in which slept the crippled kitten and fled as far as possible, to the bottom of the castle, in the jails. The soldier who was on guard did not want to get into a long argument, busy playing dice with Myror, the tall balladeer with the silver earring. He opened Number Four's cell and let Merlin in before locking again, and went back to the small table where a pitcher of good wine and leftovers from the banquet were waiting for him.

Derian was not sleeping in the cramped dungeon bathed in a bluish glow by the moonlight sliting through the basement window. He sat up, surprised.

Merlin slumped in a corner, the kitten on his lap and talked to him for quite a while, until he was a curled ball of frustration and sadness, fatigue and unanswered questions.

He fell asleep under the dark gaze of the prisoner and woke up only when Perceval came to get Number Four out for a duel, in the late morning.

Arthur has told his guests about the campaign to Ismere and they wish to see for themselves the strength of the threat Camelot defeated.

Cradling the basket of his kitten, Merlin sneaks behind the members of the Court and the few buffoons selected to provide entertainment to those not interested in the duel, and finds himself face to face with George who looks peeved.

\- "_Where_ have you been?" he hisses, pulling Merlin away from noble ears. "King Alined said you never came help him to bed and you did not _deign_ to go wake him up! The Steward _will_ punish you, he was beside himself, let me tell you. Plus, _I_ had to replace _you_! "

\- "And?" Merlin prompts almost in spite of himself.

George stares at him a moment, stunned.

\- "And _nothing_, idiot! What did you expect? You are _hopeless_. I know His Majesty is outrageously lenient with you, but you've crossed the line. His Lordship isn't difficult to deal with, compared to others. What possessed you to piss him off?"

The misunderstanding he reads in the blue eyes unsettles him more than Merlin's disobedience.

\- "You sure you're okay?" he softens. "You're acting weird these days. Something happened? I mean, I'd get it if you didn't want to work for the Sarrum but His Highness Alined isn't that bad..."

\- "He _is_", Merlin whispers. "And I don't like him."

Georges scarce eyebrows frown disapprovingly under his red bangs.

\- "You're _ridiculous_" he snorts. "Now bring back your poor cat to Gaius' and hurry to go clean up the Great Hall with the others, there's another banquet tonight."

\- "Will they stop stuffing themselves someday?" Merlin grumbles.

\- "Shut up."

The young man walks away and Georges lets go of another sigh of exasperation, before resuming his most remarkably polite attitude to offer refreshments to the noble audience. Queen Caterina coos of pleasure as she accepts the flower Myror just made appear from nowhere, more charming than ever in his Byzantium cloak.

The White Shadow is standing in midfield, ankles chained, and facing one of the warriors from Amata.

\- "When this is over, _I_'d like to spar with _you_, Pendragon", the Sarrum says with a smirk that looks like bared fangs.

Percival explains the rules of the combat, then steps back after a last look at Derian.

He has the feeling Number Four did not listen to a word he said. The eyes of the former _Dorocha_ were fixed on something beyond the giant's shoulder - cold and relentless.

But behind Perceval, there is only one thing and _this_ is what worries the brawny man.

_Five monarchs sitting in a row._

_Maybe it was a bad idea to give in to the whim of the guests ... _

_Has Arthur lost sight of the purpose of this gathering?_

_Why let the wolf out of his cell _now_? It is neither wise nor justified._

And Derian's gaze was not that of the man Perceval sparred with every day for over a year.

Both men raise their quarterstaff and greet each other. Then the fight begins.

Merlin brought his basket to the kitchen where he easily obtains a bowl of milk for the little cat and a big slice of bacon on a chunk of bread rubbed with garlic for him, which he chomps perched on a stool. Her hands on her plump hips, the cook ranted for a while against "_tose lords wit no heart who mess op our good Cam'lot and it's pity His Maj'sty hasn' yet gone trough wit his grief 'coz he'd never allow soch tings was he in his rite mind_", shaking her ruddy face under her bonnet.

Comforted by his halt in the warm and busy room, Merlin kissed her cheek before leaving the kitchen to go help the others in the Great Hall.

But he never got that far because clamors broke out on the training ground, and everybody anxiously scrambled in that direction.

\- "Someone killed the king!"

* * *

**_TBC_**


	26. You're nothing

** YOU'RE NOTHING**

* * *

Everyone babblers and blathers and not a word makes sense.

\- "T'was to be expected!"

\- "War is upon us!"

\- "T's not _our_ king, t's one of _the_ kings!"

\- "Good riddance!"

\- "A monster!"

\- "Goodness me, what a dreadful day!"

\- "I told you so"

\- "We'll all die because of him!"

\- "How could such a thing happen?"

Merlin works his way through the crowd and his eyes widen in both relief and horror, when he finally sees half a dozen guards pinning Derian to the ground, their spears pointed at him, while Perceval and Gwaine are facing a wrathful Arthur whose formal shirt is plastered in mud. Georges is offering a drink to a wan Alined. The Sarrum is laughing loudly on his bench, slapping his thighs heartily. As for Queen Caterina and Olaf, they seem quite ready to cancel all negotiations. There is a man lying dead on the lawn – the one who was getting ready to fight Number Four earlier.

Sir Leon scatters off the gapers severely.

\- "What happened?" Merlin asks as soon as there is less people.

\- "The _Dorocha_ just proved we should have _never_ trusted him", hisses the knight, his blue eyes blazing beneath his blond curls damp with sweat. "It took six men to restrain him! He bided for his opportunity, the vicious! That's why we should never have let him alive. We may not be able to avoid war. If he has ruined years of work, I ... "

\- "But what did he do?" insists the young man, not understanding, worried about this seething ire.

\- "He attacked King Alined! Killed his opponent – chivalry was not be expected from him anyway - and charged on His Highness without warning, with that air of murderous madness, as if the man had personally offended him! If His Majesty had not tackled him to the ground...

Merlin gasps as he figures out the reason behind the attack.

\- "I need to talk to Arthur!"

Sir Leon grabs his arm.

\- "Ho there, not now, Merlin! Go back to your chores. You won't help doing so. I don't know why you're so fond of this wild beast, but it's time to face reality. He must die, that's all he deserves."

\- "NO!" cries the manservant, and the knight lets go of his arm, surprised by this vehemence.

Merlin takes the opportunity to rush towards Number Four.

\- "How is it that _no one_ even saw the attack coming? Am I surrounded by _useless_ people?" is fuming Arthur. "Don't you know he's a prisoner of war? Do _I_ have to do everything? This is unacceptable!"

\- "I'm sure he had a clear idea in mind! If we could only question him, Sire, we would understand the reason behind such an unexpected action", protests Perceval. "I reckon he'd never do such a thing without thinking. He never sought to cause the least harm for over a year, we..."

\- "Well, it seems that patience is the first of his virtues!" snaps the King bitterly. "There's nothing to understand! I have shown too lenient! I want him executed!"

\- "Sire, let me do an investigation", intervenes Gwaine. "I agree with you, he must pay with his life the assassination attempt, but I'd ..."

\- "_No_!" Merlin yells, throwing himself in their midst. "Please, Arthur! No, don't hurt him!"

The king's face becomes even paler than before, and his mouth thins to a line.

\- "Merlin, you need to leave", he utters through his gritted teeth.

The manservant shakes his head frantically.

\- "No! You don't understand. He would not harm you, he ... he was sad and angry, that's all. He just doesn't know how to explain himself properly, he regrets."

\- "Oh, and I probably should worry about the emotional states of the prisoners now?" scathes Arthur sarcastically. "Merlin, I will not repeat myself. _Go_."

Appalled, Perceval and Gwaine contemplate the young man whose blue eyes are bulging and who is wringing his hands in distress.

The Court nobles and the advisors whisper as they observe the scene, barely concealing their shocked expressions. The Sarrum's sniggering is dangerously ironic, Olaf and Caterina are outraged, Alined clicks his tongue with indignation.

His knees sunk in the mud of the training ground, Number Four raises his head despite the blades pressed to his neck. Two men hold his arms pulled back and the others are ready to pierce him with their spears.

_On his craggy face, nothing. But in his dark eyes, a burning hatred._

\- "_Please_, Arthur", Merlin pleads, biting his lips. "Let him live. Please ..."

Sir Leon approaches, tries to drag off the servant.

\- "We gave him a chance, he did not take it ... it's too late", he says, troubled.

_Why is Merlin creating a scandal now out of all times ? Does he not see how much he embarrasses the king?_

\- "Don't let someone innocent die", begs the young man. "Sire, please, wait before you do something rash!"

\- "_Rash_!" Arthur chokes as if it had just been stung by a wasp. "Hold your tongue, _Mer_lin, or I will indeed do something rash."

The word slapped him like the withering look of his father in the old days, glinting in the eyes of the four rulers who watch him and see first-hand how little authority he has over a simple valet.

_First a prisoner tries to kill one of his guests, now a servant publicly humiliates him._

Arthur's fingers quiver with anger and shame, and he locks them in his fists.

\- "Enough. Take him away", he orders to the guards restraining Number Four. "And call the executioner. Alined, my friend, you will attend this afternoon the execution of the man who dared to attack you. Caterina, my dear, do not fear for your safety."

Olaf nods, relenting, and the Sarrum snorts sarcastically.

\- "Nonononono", mumbles Merlin, standing before the prisoner, his arms outstretched, his prominent cheekbones and the tip of his big ears flushing red, cobalt orbs filled with resolve. "Arthur! He was just trying to ... he wanted ... I ... it's my fault ... so don't ... please, don't kill him!"

The sapphires become narrow and dark like Uther's eyes.

\- "I said "_enough_".

\- "Listen to me!" implores Merlin.

Gwaine puts a hand on his shoulder.

\- "Come on, off you go", he whispers anxiously. "You'll get yourself in trouble."

The servant disengages furiously.

\- "You're not listening! You don't pay attention! He's not your enemy! You're being a fool, trusting the wrong people! For three days you've been behaving like a-"

\- "WILL YOU SHUT UP?" roars the king.

Perceval - who had kneeled to secure steel handcuffs on Number Four's wrists, chaining them again to his ankles - rises and glances with dismay at the distraught young man facing the irate king, regardless of the whispering crowd watching them.

\- "You're allying with people who have none of your values, who are _mean_!" Merlin hollers. "You bow to them and give them feasts when they only want to take advantage of you!"

\- "What would you like?" snarls Arthur, quavering with rage. "That I'd walk on neighboring kingdoms with an army and thousands would die in the name of a dream? I'm building _peace_, Merlin! Albion is not a chimera, it needs to be anchored by the rules of the _real_ world!"

\- "It's not peace you're building! _This_ is not Albion! It _never_ will! Not with alliances denying everything we believe in!"

Sir Leon throws bewildered glances around him, frightened by the cruel smile of the Sarrum, the deeply disappointed look of Olaf, Caterina's annoyed face and the way Alined clips his nostrils with disgust. The court visibly disapproves the deplorable spectacle of this dispute.

\- "You Majesty", he tries.

Words choke in Arthur's throat, as he suddenly seems to realize where he is.

\- "Allow me a moment to settle this matter, my lords, my ladies", he utters, bolting upright with the little dignity he can muster.

He grabs the lanky young man by the arm and leaves the training ground, pulling him in tow, not restricting anything of that strength he has gained over the years.

\- "You don't remember why we started to unify the country! croaks Merlin, grimacing at the pain of the implacable grip on his arm, stumbling as he tries to slow them down and struggle free. "Since Mithian died, you've been _different_! Like an empty shell! You don't see what's really important anymore! You don't care for Little-Albion and for me ..."

Arthur stops short and spins on his heels. His teeth grind and his eyes are consumed with humiliation, irritation and the pain that words inflict him.

\- "And _why_ should _I_ care about you? You're only _a servant_!" he slashes icily. "You're _nothing_."

They are alone in the world under the white arch that marks the entrance to the courtyard, yet dozens of eyes are watching them from the corner of the training ground behind them, along the wall, on the ramparts .

\- "That's not true", protests Merlin, tears welling up in his eyes.

Arthur feels a strange pleasure at the hideous sentences rushing to his lips, as if the whole sky had darkened and, in the furnace roiling in his gut, their coldness was a relief.

\- "I am your king and you keep forgetting it. You don't have a clue of the challenges of _real_ life and you think you can get involved, but _you know nothing_. I'm tired of cleaning after your mess. Do you think I _enjoy_ condemning to death someone you took a liking in for no reason? Why do you _always_ put me in such places, _Mer_lin? My life would be easier _without you_."

The young man takes a tottering step back, and tears roll on his angular cheekbones. He blinks to clear his clouded blue eyes, stricken by the words just like by a dagger.

\- "That's not true", he stammers weakly.

\- "It is the truth and it's time you grow up and hear it", Arthur continues, almost stunned by the outpouring of rage shaking him. "I told you from the first day of the negotiations. _Know your place_. You're going to bring ruin to Camelot if you keep up like this. You need to leave, Merlin. _Go_."

\- "Arthur ..."

\- "It's YOUR MAJESTY", growls the king.

Merlin hiccups. His arm is free but numb from the pain. He is so pale he looks about to faint.

\- "Number Four only wanted to protect me ..." he whispers.

\- "We've been through this", Arthur retorts without listening. "_Get out of my sight_."

He deliberately shoves his shoulder against his manservant's as he goes back to the training ground, not looking back once.

He feels like he is falling into a bottomless pit, swept away by a whirlwind that he can not stop, and fights desperately to regain control of his mind, of his contorted features, of his unsteady voice.

\- "Sire?"

He recognizes the voice, stops mechanically and blinks.

_Ah. This is Gaius._

The old man looks quite disturbed and a little out of breath.

\- "Sire, are you hurt? They called me urgently, but ..."

Arthur shakes his chin.

\- "I am unharmed", he replies hoarsely.

\- "Did someone actually die? The rumors are rife", continues the court physician, casting frequent glances around him. "I heard ... are the guests all right? I heard there was an incident."

The king stiffens.

\- "Fortunately, they are safe. I just hope they have not given up signing the treaty after this pitiful scene. Oh yes, Merlin did a great job on that one!"

Gaius swallows hard.

\- "I'm sorry, sire", he mutters.

Something breaks under Arthur's ribcage, planting tiny darts in his lungs, and cutting off his breath for a moment.

\- "Not as much as I am, Gaius", he whispers. "Not as much as I am."

When he turns to enter the training ground, his eyes slide in spite of himself toward the white arch.

But Merlin has disappeared.

* * *

oOoOoOo

* * *

Gwaine discards the keys on the table in the guard room and sits down heavily, taking his head in his hands.

\- "Something's amiss ..." he mumbles.

Perceval straddles the bench and settles in front of him, looking tense.

\- "Derian won't explain his attitude. There must be a reason behind all this, though. Merlin was hysterical", he adds sadly.

Sir Leon leans against the door frame, arms crossed, frowning under his blond curls.

\- "We need to hold on", he says quietly. "Two more days, and it's over."

The three knights exchange a weary look, then Gwaine rubs his tired orbits with the heel of his hands.

\- "I just hope we'll all still be in one piece, in two days", he sighs.

In the dungeon that smells of moldy straw, the White Shadow is standing against the wall, his head lifted to the basement window as to sniff the danger roaming free outside.

On the other side of the grid, the executioner sharpens his ax.

* * *

oOoOoOo

* * *

Merlin found himself in the laundry hall without knowing how he had gotten there and was hired to scrub the dirty socks of the King – the washerwomen are keen on the fact there are _limits_ to what should be given to them. In the echo filled room, in a mist of hot water droplets and soap bubbles, he brushes the socks on the board mechanically, almost grazing the skin of his wrists, his sleeves rolled to not get wet. He is not really present, lost in his mind were the words of Arthur are whirling in dreary loops.

_"You're nothing."_

_"My life would be easier without you."_

The women around him gossip on the events of the day, of course, even if they do not include him in the discussion, by sympathy.

Everybody knows Merlin's adoration for the king and the great indulgence of the ruler for the clumsiest servant of Camelot.

The memorable quarrel is almost as much reviewed as the attempted assassination of the _Dorocha_ warrior on the person of ... _well, people are divided on who was the intended target_.

Some think Number Four indeed attacked Alined, others that he wanted to take Arthur's life from the beginning. They however all agree the negotiations came close to failing, if it were not for the monumental efforts of the king to appease his guests.

_The war was a close call. But everything is fine, now._

_It has been decided, in the end, that the White Shadow was to be executed tomorrow morning in the early hours of the day._

Night falls, the setting sun bathes the white walls of the room in parchment light, glittering on the water in the laundries.

The women leave and silence settles.

Merlin is still scrubbing the same pair of socks.

_Maybe he should go to Arthur. If he apologies for his screaming and ranting, the king will surely forgive him ..._

A golden bubble bursts in the now cold water.

_"Get out of my sight."_

He stifles a sob.

_He went too far. He failed Arthur, displeased and hurt him. He will never be allowed to stay by his side again. Maybe he should leave Camelot. Go away with Daegal, live like a buffoon..._

He inhales deeply, blows his nose in his sleeve.

_He will take the crippled kitten and pack a big chunk of cheese and also his winter cloak._

_Oh - Gaius. He must say goodbye to Gaius._

The socks sink to the bottom of the dark laundry basin.

_That won't do. He can't let his grandfather who is so old and needs him to go collect herbs in the forest, and do errands and clean the leech tank._

He won't miss the leech tank, he eventually decides.

_Maybe Daegal will accept Gaius as part of the troupe._

_The court physician could do tricks with gold coins or invent potions that'll make people fart. It would be useful to draw crowds in the market places._

He leaves the washing hall, counting on his fingers what he will need for the journey, burying deep in his heart the idea of not seeing Arthur every day, not helping him find his things, not laughing with him, not sharing his dreams, not building with him Albion - the best place of the world.

There is no one in the Great Hall, already prepared for tonight banquet, so he sneaks behind the curtain hanging at the back of the room to give the artists a backstage. It's dark and it smells of white lead, hedgehog ash and crushed blackberries, of the oil slicking the black hair of the Egyptian dancer. The colourful tunics adorned with bells and ribbons, the small hats with long feathers and the whip to which obey the bear are carefully prepared. But there is no one, not a sound ... _ just a whisper in a corner_.

Two voices, too soft for him to recognize them, one deep, the other clear.

\- "... Tomorrow ..."

\- "... dagger in his chest ..."

\- "... only one chance ..."

\- "... waiting for us at the castle ..."

Merlin stumbles against a bench and the cymbals fall with a loud clatter.

\- "Someone's here!"

\- "Kill him."

He bolts and runs away at full speed through the empty corridors. Nobody catches him and he finally stops, heart pounding, at the kitchen.

The Cook is scolding her staff and the flavoured smell of supper spreads through the open door.

_He's safe._

Someone puts a hand on his shoulder.

\- "Merlin?"

He jumps and smiles weakly, relieved in seeing that it is only Daegal.

\- "You all right? You look like you saw the devil."

He nods, opens his mouth to talk about the plot he eavesdropped on behind the curtain, recalls that he also wants to ask if he can leave with the jugglers and - _ohoh, is it a good idea? Perhaps the conspirators are part of the troop? Daegal would be in danger if he knew ..._

\- "I ..." he stutters.

\- "_Merlin_!" exclaims Guinevere charging at him as she gets out of the kitchen and spots him. "Where were you? I was worried sick."

She carries a tray on which is the Dolma's meal: Arthur ordered the nurse to remain in the princess' chambers for the duration of the negotiations.

\- "Don't you worry, okay? You know how he is when he's under pressure. He didn't think half the things he said, I'm sure."

Merlin does not answer, because he would like to believe it, but he knows she's wrong.

_She did not see the look of Arthur as he spoke the awful words._

The young woman heaves a long sigh.

\- "In any case, I'll feel better when they're all gone away from Camelot."

She smiles at Daegal.

\- "Not you, of course. Have you eaten yet? There will be lots of leftovers, but I'll keep you an apple pie. I know you love them, Merlin told me."

Her hazel eyes go back to the gangly servant and she shoves the tray in his hands after a moment's reflection.

\- "Off you go to the Dolma. You don't need to attend the banquet, that'd be ridiculous. I'll arrange someone to take care of King Alined for tonight. Go to bed early and forget that horrible day. Oh, and tell the Dolma that I'll come later to see the princess."

As usual, Guinevere demonstrates a maternal authority impossible to dodge and Merlin nods, grateful to have something to do. He whispers to Daegal he will talk to him later, then goes towards the stairs.

Night is almost there, but the last sunrays of the day are still sneaking through the windows, in a saffron glow. Merlin watches each step to make sure he won't top off the contents of the tray, inhaling the aroma of grilled sturgeon and parsley.

He is on the floor just under the nursery's when he hears someone calling him in a hushed voice. He walks down the hallway, looking for the person who needs him.

\- "George?"

But it is not George who steps out from behind a pillar.

_It is the king of Deorham._

Terrified, Merlin freezes when he sees him.

_Then everything happens very fast._

Alined corners him, thrusts his knee in the young man's gut, pins him against the wall with his elbow, whacks his mouth under his hand to silence him.

\- "You will be mine, pretty boy", he pants, his breath hot in Merlin's neck. "Don't think you can run away from me forever. Your king is so crossed he'll gladly give you to me. See? I always get what I want."

The tray tumbles down and the plate and goblet clatter on the tiles floor, spilling their contents, as Merlin fights back, desperately trying to push away the hand fumbling with the laces of his pants, the clammy fingers bruising the soft skin of his lower abdomen.

He snaps his head to the side with a plaintive moan to escape from Alined's burning lips crushing against his, kicks and struggles fiercely, blind with pure terror.

_And suddenly, it is over._

Someone caught the king by his fur lined collar and pulled him back with a powerful grip.

Black dots are dancing before Merlin's eyes and he sucks in shallow breaths, still squashed against the wall. He can barely makes a face out of the figure facing the infuriated king.

\- "Alined", says a disgruntled voice. "It's not my place to judge or not your ... inclinations, but this young man does not seem willing."

\- "He was the one flirting with me!" the king of Deorham shrieks.

\- "I don't think so", says firmly the man with square shoulders, who is wearing a light blue surcoat and a chainmail coat. "And I reckon you shouldn't be doing this. Arthur Pendragon obviously cares for that serving boy. I will not let you ruin negotiations that will bring peace to _my_ kingdom just because _you_ wanted to satisfy your passions."

King Olaf turns to Merlin and his rustic features soften.

\- "I'm sorry your plate was toppled off, boy", he says with a kind of gruff paternal sweetness. "But be glad for it, it was the noise that pulled me out of my room. Now run along."

Merlin obeys, not completely aware of what he is doing, and gets off from behind the pillar. He stumbles toward the stairs on the other side of the floor, throwing a glance back from time to time.

Olaf removes his hand from the fur lined collar but his look hardens.

\- "Be certain that I will not hesitate to refer the incident to King Arthur if I catch you to pick again on this boy", he says in a low, menacing voice. "You do not measure up to our two kingdoms, Alined. You'd be overthrown in less than a heartbeat. So behave until the end of the negotiations. Is that clear?"

The man with the receding chin snorts, straightens his rumpled clothes and takes his leave. Olaf shakes his head in disgust, then goes back to his chambers.

The spilled plate is overturned on the floor and dark red wine drips from the cup.

Merlin staggers up the stairs, a hand against the wall to hold himself up. His whole body is trembling and his legs are wobbly. He feels like his very core has turned into ice and shivers, yet beads of sweat are trickling down his temples.

_Or perhaps it is tears._

_He does not know, he does not know anything anymore._

His vision is darkening, his ears are ringing. His arms hurt, a dull pain throbs in the pit of his gut. His stomach churns and he throws up till he is breathless, a taste of blood and bile at the back of his throat. He wipes his face with his sleeve, quivers when he touches his swollen lip, stifles a sob.

His head is spinning, everything is so confused.

_He can not stay there. He must ... must ..._

He pushes himself up painfully, hardly feeling the scratch he did to his knee, when he fell as nausea took him over.

He does not really know how he manages to get to the nursery, in a fog where Arthur's words blend with the whispers of Alined.

\- "Merlin?" says the grating voice of the Dolma, followed almost immediately by an anxious exclamation: "Wha_a_t ha_a_ppened to you?"

He barely sees her, rushing toward him in her black dress, before a vague of dizziness makes him lurch forward.

She catches him as he keels over, drags him to the rocking chair, muttering under her jutting chin, then takes a good look at him.

Rough up clothes, laces undone at the waist, mouth swollen and red, chaotic breathing and the terror still printed on the angular face white as a sheet ...

Her eyes widen in horror.

_Oh, she knows what happened ..._

She joins hands.

\- "Who?" she gasps.

Glassy blue eyes try to focus on her while fluttering eyelashes fight against the shock gripping the abused body.

She checks on the still sleeping baby in the crib, then fills a cup of water to the pot hanging in the fireplace, adds a spoonful of honey and a few lemon balm leaves.

\- "Drink, Merlin", she croons, helping him to hold the steaming cup in his shaking hands.

She wraps him in a blanket and, word by word, with patience and kindness, gets enough information to figure out what happened.

The relief that comes over her when she understands Olaf's timing saved Merlin from the worst is not enough to quench the anger seething in her, though.

\- "You'll stay here for now", she decides. "When Guinevere comes, I'll send for your grandfa_a_ther. We'll see from then."

Merlin nods, lost in a haze.

She smiles fondly at him and all her ugliness fades off before the look of tenderness.

\- "There's nothing to fear when with the Dolma_a_."

The sail of the oak boat creases and the chirping of the baby bubbles in the crib. Fear recedes a bit in the blue eyes and the young man turns his head in that direction. The wet nurse takes away the empty cup. She goes get the princess, cleans and swaddles her, then comes back to the fireplace and preciously puts her in Merlin's arms.

\- "There", she coos. "The best remedy against the darkness of the world."

The five months old little girl is strong enough to hold her head, now. Her eyes are slowly changing to the amber shade that will be theirs when she grows up. Under her lace cap, her cheeks are chubby and soft like peaches. She drools as she chews on the ear of the teddy Gwaine gave her, and stares at Merlin making happy trills of "arha" the Dolma imitates with a stupid loving tone.

The young man tickles the dimples of the baby girl that immediately opens her mouth widely, like a bird in search of food.

\- "Albion ..." he whispers.

\- "Aga?" answers the princess, busy munching the plush.

He gives her a shaky smile, plays with her a moment, humming the lullaby.

Everything is so quiet in the room, as if the heart of Camelot had been preserved in here.

_\- "Let the birds sing, dilly dilly, and the lambs play ..."_

The Dolma engulfs her two children in a fiercely protective gaze, determined to tell a few home truths to the king who neglects them far too often for her liking.

_\- "... we shall be safe, dilly dilly, out of harms way ..."_

The young man's voice chokes and he bursts into tears.

The Dolma comes closer and watches that he does not let go of the child while making soothing motions on his back.

\- "_Why_?" Merlin stammers. "Art'hur doesn't want ... t-to s-see me anymo-ore... and ... _why_ ... Ali-ned hurt m-me ... and _why_ ... my cat ... and ... that's ... not f-fair ... "

\- "Men a_a_re evil, my changeling", murmurs the woman. "It's like tha_a_t. But _you _ha_a_ve done nothing wrong."

She gently rocks the armchair, stroking the forehead damp with sweat and fear, tangling the black curls like Mithian used to.

Merlin leans to the warm and reassuring palm, the baby's silky head resting against his chin, and closes his eyes as if to erase the terrifying moment.

\- "Everything will be fine, my duckling, I'm protecting you ..."

He suddenly startles in the quietness that was slowly swathing him.

_"Protecting."_

_Arthur!_

The snippets of the conversation overheard behind the curtain make their way in his feverish mind and he straightens up.

\- "Oh. I have to go", he blurts out, giving the baby girl to the Dolma who takes her, knitting her invisible eyebrows.

\- "Why?" she urges.

\- "Arthur's in danger", he says, rising.

He is swaying a little on his rangy legs.

\- "Where a_a_re you going? Can't it wait until Guinevere gets here? The banquet won't la_a_st forever. Stay, Merlin."

He shakes his head with an apologetic smile, winces as he reties the laces of his breeches.

_Forgotten the ordeal, the fear, the bruises - even the words that broke his heart._

_He feels a bit better._

_And his internal compass is again pointing to his duty._

_Protecting Arthur._

The Dolma purses her lips and the baby lets out a chuckle of laughter on her shoulder as if the grimace has only happened for her fun.

Merlin leans to kiss the tip of the princess' nose, making her squint. The nurse takes the opportunity to unwrinkle the collar of his tunic.

She knows she will just make him more fretful if she tries to stop him from following his imperious instinct.

\- "Come ba_a_ck soon", she says in a surly voice.

\- "Promise", answers the lanky young man very seriously, before slipping out of the room.

_He will just sneak to the guardroom and tell Gwaine what he heard. And then ... if he explains to Percival why Number Four became enraged, maybe it will be enough to save Derian ..._

He goes down the stairs cautiously, casting anxious glances around him.

The torchlight is grim and casts shadows on the walls. His legs are not very strong and his body is still shaken by tremors.

But he must do his duty and - _then_ \- he will go back to curl up in the cocoon of the nursery and hide there until the end of negotiations.

_Everything will be fine._

Except that Merlin did not count on the hand that suddenly smashes on his mouth a rag soaked in a liquid that stinks and makes him pass out almost immediately.

* * *

_**TBC**_


	27. The Stork & The Wolf

** THE STORK &amp; THE WOLF**

* * *

It is still dark when the alarm sounds through Camelot.

The bells are tolling a baneful fraught knell and, when he wakes up with a jerk upon hearing them, Arthur has no idea how much they are calling for help.

\- "Number Four escaped", pants Gwaine, barging in the throne room. "The guards were drugged. Gaius is treating them as we speak."

\- "What shall we do, sire? The signing of the Treaty…" says Sir Leon worriedly. "In these circumstances, isn't it going to be compromised?"

The king pinches the bridge of his nose, thinking as fast and as intensely as possible, in the circle of knights anxiously awaiting his orders.

\- "I want a dozen men looking for him. The others will protect the guests four by four. The Round Table's security should be doubled. Who has the keys to the gallery?"

\- "Guinevere", answers Gwaine.

\- "Good. That's the last person that blasted White Shadow would convince to lend them. The guards are to be questioned as soon as they're able to talk. I demand you bring me the person who released the prisoner. It is an act of high treason and it _will_ be severely punished."

He runs a weary hand over his unshaven face.

\- "May the gods spare us if Merlin has a hand in this ..." he mutters gloomily.

Sir Leon and Gwaine shudder at the idea.

\- "As for the guests ... let's keep this matter as low as possible. The signing of the treaty is to happen in late morning. I hope for all of us that by then Number Four will be found."

The knights carry out Sir Leon's orders without cringing at the curt tone of the king. Gwaine goes down to the jails to give the instructions to Perceval who is carefully inspecting the empty cell.

No signs of forced entry, but from the way the straw is crumpled and muddy, it seems there was a struggle.

\- "I wonder if he fled _voluntarily_", slowly says the giant. "Something happened in here. Something fishy."

\- "Have you seen Merlin? Maybe he knows something", Gwaine huffs through gritted teeth.

His friend considers him for a moment.

\- "What's the matter?"

\- "Arthur seems to think this is all Merlin's fault", scoffs the young bearded man. "As if _Merlin_ could do _anything_ against the king's will. Can't he not see Merlin's unwavering loyalty?"

Perceval puts a soothing hand on his angry friend's shoulder.

\- "Arthur _knows_ Merlin would never betray him. But you got to admit that we can't guess what happened in the mind of the little one frightened at the idea of seeing someone he likes dying on the orders of the master he loves. And you heard them – yesterday. I reckon Merlin didn't understand the King's words went beyond his thoughts and might have figured it was the only solution ..."

Gwaine has no time to protest - _that, according to him, everything is Arthur's fault, to begin with, because he should have never brought the White Shadow to Camelot_ \- because Gaius comes to the two men, clearing his throat.

\- "The guards should awaken in a few hours", he scolds. "A powerful narcotic was used - a potion far more advanced than those my grandson is used to handle. Merlin is not guilty, I can guarantee it."

Both men squirm uncomfortably in front of the condemning eyebrow visibly warning them not to continue their momentum.

\- "Of course, Gaius", Perceval says softly.

\- "Do you know where he is, though?" presses Gwaine carefully. "He may have seen something, if he came to visit Number Four last night ..."

The old man's forehead creases even more.

\- "I don't know where he is. Actually, I was hoping one of you could tell me. He did not come home last night, his bed had not been slept in.

\- "Guinevere must know", Perceval assures gently. "Gwaine, I'll lead the search for the prisoner. If you agree", he adds after some thought.

\- "Thanks, mate", mumbles his commanding officer, chewing the inside of his mouth, lost in abysses of dark possibilities.

_So much can go wrong._

_And at the slightest misstep, they could go to war ..._

Dawn is just beginning to rim the soaring white towers. The air is so fresh it tingles like a funny feeling.

* * *

oOoOoOo

* * *

Guinevere pleats up her skirts to walk faster. She has hastily braided her long curly hair and some brown tendrils are loosened on her chestnut satin forehead. The keys to the gallery above the Round Table tangle from the low girdle at her waist, jingling in rhythm with her hurried steps.

She could not go to the nursery last night after the banquet, and when she heard the alarm bell, guilt clogged her throat.

_May the little princess be safe ..._

Arthur thought long and hard when the rulers were invited about the danger he would bring upon his sole heiress by letting potential rivals free to roam the castle. He made Guinevere promise - _and he did not need to, because she fully intended to do so already_ \- to watch over the Dolma and her precious charge.

_Gwaine asked her to go get Merlin with a dark look that worries her. What's happening, now?_

The young woman does not look ahead, climbing up the stairs still haloed in blue by the fading night, and hurls straight into the person coming her way, finding herself suddenly knocked on the floor two steps lower, her bottom sore and her ears ringing from the shock of her head against the wall.

\- "Oh, I'm sorry!" she slurs, rubbing her twisted ankle, white stars dancing in front of her eyes.

\- "I am the one who should apologize", protests the warm and deep voice of Myror, the balladeer with the silver earring.

His kind brown eyes, in his handsome ebony face, scan her anxiously.

\- "You should see the Court Physician. You banged your head pretty hard ... you might be more injured than it seems."

Guinevere blinks, wincing at the throbbing pain in her ankle.

\- "What a ninny I do, indeed", she scoffs.

\- "Where were you going?" asks the tall and athletic man, crouching in front of her. "I'll help you walk there. I don't think you should put any weight on this ankle."

She nods weakly, still a bit dizzy, and lets him help her to the top of the stairs, then down the hallway to the nursery.

\- "Thank you, Myror", she says then, gently pushing the muscular arm wrapped around her waist. "You were an absolute dear. You lot are just _wonderful_ people, I'm glad we got to meet you, and Daegal as well. I will ensure the treasurer shows generous."

\- "Thank you, my lady", the man replies with a gallant bow, before leaving with feline grace.

Guinevere opens the door after a last grateful glance.

_For sure, she has a sprained ankle._

_Great._

_She really needed a stupid accident like this to add to the list of her problems of the day._

_At least it will give her an excuse to avoid Lady Vivian the world-class minx, even if she feels a little guilty about poor Anna alone at the mercy of the damsel's whims._

Dawn engulfs the crib in a golden glow and sparkling dust particles are dancing in a sunbeam.

_Everything is peaceful._

_Phew._

The Dolma is slumped in the rocking chair in front of the barely smoldering ashes in the fireplace, her angular head dropped on her chest, arms hanging and large duck feet stretched before her.

Guinevere limps, biting her lower lip to suppress her groans of pain, and stirs the embers in the hearth to restart the flames. The grinding of the fire spike against the stone startles the Dolma who wakes up with a jolt.

\- "Merlin?" she cries, eyes darting in all directions.

\- "No, it's just me", smiles Guinevere. "So he _was_ hiding here. Everybody's looking for him."

The nurse leaps up and grasps her arm, squeezing it so hard it almost hurts. Her lime green orbs are dilated.

\- "He didn't come ba_a_ck", she gasps. "He wa_a_s supposed to come ba_a_ck and he _never_ did! I fear he met a dreadful fate on his way!"

\- "Why would you say that?" asks the young woman, a little shocked. "Who would want to harm _Merlin_?"

\- "He said the King wa_a_s in danger and off he went!" snarls the Dolma, barely restraining her voice to not wake up the baby. "I waited and waited, but he never came back! _Where_ is he? _Why_ don't you know? Why is it that nobody _ever_ cares about him?"

\- "_Everybody_ loves Merlin", Guinevere protests indignantly. "You ..."

The bitter cackle cuts her line, sending a chill down her spine.

\- "The poor dear wa_a_s alone at the hands of this viper and _no one_ came to his rescue!" hisses the nurse. "Lovely, isn't it? He's doing so much for the kingdom and the only reward he's given a_a_re words he should ha_a_ve never had to hear! And worse, no one takes notice when a filthy old goat a_a_ttempts to sna_a_tch away his innocence!"

Guinevere pales.

\- "The... what? WHAT? W-What do you m-mean? Who t-tried to… _a-abuse_ Merlin?"

\- "His mighty highness A_a_lined the perverse", spits the nurse.

The woman grabs the rocking chair armrest to hold herself up, faltering.

\- "A ... A-Alined ..."

\- I don't know why the King is so anxious to ally with such a wretched lot", carries on the Dolma in a low and outraged voice, "and it's not my place to judge even if I wonder wha_a_t kind of a realm he'll leave to tha_a_t poor little lamb when she's queen, but it gives him _no right_ to let such things ha_a_ppen, especially when Merlin, a_a_s trembling and miserable a_a_s he wa_a_s after this horrible ordeal just wanted to go warn him about the threat a_a_s soon a_a_s he could stand on his own feet again!"

Guinevere flumps in the rocking chair, her legs buckling, mouth wide-opened and eyes bulging.

\- "Arthur's in danger?" she repeats after several attempts to utter a sound.

The nurse rolls her eyes, her hands on her hips.

\- "_Of course_, all tha_a_t ma_a_tters to you is your precious _King_! I'm telling you _Merlin_ ha_a_s disappeared!"

The young brunette shakes her head weakly.

\- "No, I heard you ... but ... the peace treaty ... we must tell the knights ..."

Her hands fumble absently for the keys and she lets out a strangled cry when she discovers they are not dangling at her girdle anymore.

_Oh no no no no no ..._

She gets up, only to flop back with a moan when she puts weight on her swollen ankle.

The Dolma purses her lips, then lets out a deep sigh.

\- "All right", she says. "I'll go. You stay here and you wa_a_tch over the child with your life."

\- "The gallery", gabbles Guinevere. "The open gallery above the Round Table ... this is the perfect place to hide, to shoot the kings ..."

She can picture Arthur, his shirt soaked in blood, glazed eyes staring at emptiness ... the tumult in the room, the men unsheathing their swords, horror and war cries igniting like a spark in crops and the flames devastating the entire kingdom, Camelot in ruins and the dream of Albion shattered forever ...

Skinny fingers snapping in front of her burst her bubble of panic and she comes back to reality.

\- "Not everything is lost yet, my girl", snorts the Dolma. "Stop day-dreaming and focus. Lock yourself in the nursery and do not let anyone inside, is tha_a_t clear? And pray that Merlin is only asleep somewhere."

The nurse leaves the room after brushing a light kiss on the forehead of the princess who does not even flinch in her slumber, and heads with long strides towards the throne room.

She is only halfway when a shadow creeps from behind a door and pulls her in a room, slamming a hand over her mouth to prevent her from screaming.

* * *

oOoOoOo

* * *

Arthur stares tensely at the knights gathered in the Round Table Hall.

_It is now that it all plays out._

The monarchs come in one after the other, followed by their escorts. Queen Caterina slides on the tile floor in her white dress embroidered with sparkling silks and jewels, King Olaf keeps his hand on the hilt of his sword, his gray eyebrows wary under his simple silver crown, in a blue surcoat and chainmail. The Sarrum sneers, the red fuzz on the back of his thick skull almost the same color as the horse's mane adorning his black armor. Alined walks in stiffly, small shifty eyes glancing in all directions as if looking for something and wanting to avoid another.

Camelot red capes are hatching in the room flooded in sunlight, side by side with the coats of arms of the other realms, like a bouquet of wild flowers, a dish artistically prepared by a gourmet, a perfectly organized show.

Behind the pillar on the gallery, the assassin cocks his crossbow and a smug smirk curls up the corners of his lips.

* * *

oOoOoOo

* * *

The Dolma struggles, kicks and breaks free after shoving an elbow in the ribcage of whoever it is that thought he was strong enough to restrain her.

When she turns around, the man raises his hands in peace and she realizes that in fact it is _he_ who let go.

She pulls on her wimple to straighten it, smoothes the wrinkles of her dress with a small sniff of disdain, then clicks her tongue.

\- "Goodness me. You _aare_ ugly", she blurts out.

She gets a wry grunt in reply, but she does not seem to hear the obvious "have a look in the mirror yourself" that it is supposed to convey.

\- "I guess you aren't ha_a_lf the big ba_a_d wolf they pretend you a_a_re", she adds after a moment, surveying the tall and sturdy frame, shaggy beard and hair, scars the too short sleeves can't hide.

\- "You ha_a_ve good eyes."

Said eyes roll, exasperated by this useless chitchat.

\- "Wha_a_t do you want from me? Ha_a_ve you given up bleeding white the swine and decided to protect the king? Wise decision, if I may say."

Number Four nods and his hands move swiftly, mimicking someone whispering then a stabbing.

The Dolma scratches her prominent chin.

\- "So you know about the conspiracy Merlin eavesdropped on?"

A flash of worry blazes in the brown eyes of the prisoner who steps forward and grabs the forearm of the woman with an iron grasp.

\- "Tha_a_t's not him who told you? Oh", she gasps. "I really _hope_ nothing ha_a_ppened to him. I ... he told me la_a_st night, then he went off and never came ba_a_ck ..."

The dilemma is very alive, very sincere, naked and raw in the eyes of the White Shadow.

\- "Let's save the king first", decides the Dolma. "He's in danger, tha_a_t's for sure. There's still _a chance_ the gangly boy is taking a na_a_p in a remote corner of the ca_a_stle."

She does not add that the ordeal from the day before may have caused this kind of sudden and overwhelming slumber, because it is clear that the common sense which for now seems to drive the wolf might disappear for a blood-thirsty hate if he knew what happened in the hallway.

\- "So _how_ do you know? A_a_h. No, forget it. It doesn't ma_a_tter for now."

She puts her hands on her hips.

\- "We must go to the Round Table Hall. Young Guinevere seemed convinced the murderer would try his luck from the ga_a_llery above the room."

Derian ponders for a while, all emotion gone from his face, then he sneaks down the hallway.

\- "Oy. Wait for me... You wouldn't la_a_st a tick if you'd come across one of these obtuse gua_a_rds. They'd gut you before you'd even sta_a_rt to explain about the stolen key!"

She stumbles on her black dress and grabs handfuls of skirts to lift it and catches up with him in a few long strides.

\- "Why is it tha_a_t someone always ha_a_ve to save the royal ba_a_ckside of the pra_a_t?" she grumbles.

Number Four stops and spins on his heels, giving her a look that could almost be described as amused.

\- "You may call me the Dolma_a_, by the way", says the woman. She tilts her head to the side and clears her throat. "But you already know tha_a_t, don't you? Merlin told you about me, isn't it?"

Derian bows his head shortly, then resumes to sneaking down the nearly empty hallways.

_If he survives to this day, she would like to become better acquainted with him._

When they have not only saved the king and four kingdoms but also Merlin.

_Merlin who weaves bonds throughout Camelot, from the nest of the stork to the wolf's lair, from the kitchens to the throne room, from heart to heart, whatever the status or the looks._

_Merlin whom everyone loves and whom everybody has forgotten during these four days._

Merlin who was taken away as he tried to protect them all.

* * *

oOoOoOo

* * *

Arthur holds his breath as the four monarchs approach the Round Table to sign the peace treaty.

_The four days are finally over. In a moment, after a brief sizzle of quills on pachment, four kingdoms will be added to the dream of reuniting Albion. Four more borders in peace._

He thought they were going to pack up and leave Camelot on bad terms when he explained reluctantly why the alarm bell had sounded. Especially Alined who has been in a foul mood since this morning and who obviously has personal reasons to resent the escaped prisoner. Then Olaf allayed the discussions, reminding them why they had gathered to begin with.

_And at last, they're here._

_Only a few more minutes ..._

Arthur almost chokes when the dart swishes through the air and pierces the Sarrum's neck at the chink in armor with a morbid hiss.

\- "Leon!" he shouts while Gwaine and the knights rush to protect him from the warriors of Amata who draw their swords.

_It'll be a bloodbath ..._

His eyes lift to the gallery, glimpse a black dress. His heart is pounding wildly.

_This was supposed to be inaccessible. There is only one key ... only one... which Guinevere is keeping safe… Guinevere who is nowhere in sight ..._

Knights in blue and soldiers in yellow split into the room, building a human wall in between the Camelot red cloaks and the Sarrum's men.

\- "Peace!" calls the strong and imposing voice of Olaf.

\- "Back!" orders Queen Caterina with authority.

Arthur's hands are red and slimy from pressing against the wound of the man collapsed on the edge of the Round Table, his unconscious face crashed on the treaty he has just signed.

\- "Sire!" Leon suddenly yells from the gallery. "An assassin sent by Odin!"

The following collective sigh of relief becomes almost palpable when Gaius, who finally managed to break through to examine the injured ruler, announces the Sarrum is not dead and will soon recover.

The swords relent everywhere, some with reluctance, most with gratefulness.

Alined looks discomposed, his guards gathered around him.

When the stretcher and Gaius are gone, Arthur forgets his speech and demands the killer to be brought to him – and this is where things become surreal.

Leon seems at a loss, as he hustles forward the Dolma who does not appreciate being surrounded by guards, and the White Shadow who is forced to kneel. Then two guards chuck at the feet of the monarchs the body of Myror, the balladeer with the silver earring.

The man was harpooned by a spear.

\- "What happened?" chugs the king, stunned.

\- "It's complicated", chimes in the Dolma with one of her ridiculously grand curtseys. "Know tha_a_t Number Four here just saved your life, Great King. Let me tell you how our quest began ..."

Arthur would beg to get a shorten or at least more to-the-fact explanation from someone else, but obviously he has no choice.

The nurse does not speak as long as he expected, however, and spares them the dramatic embellishments and other theatrical effects.

Derian and the Dolma slipped to the gallery just in time for Number Four to launch the spear he had snatched from a rack earlier and prevent Myror from shooting straight in Arthur's chest.

It is the nurse who identified Myror as a man belonging to Odin: she saw him at the rival king's court dozens of times when she was an actress - he is a buffoon who serves also as a spy and hit man, "_a disgrace to the profession!_" - and she would have recognized him much earlier, _if only_ she had been allowed to leave the nursery during the negotiations ...

Gwaine fetches Guinevere who confirms it is the balladeer who stole her keys when she fell down the stairs.

In the silence that follows, Arthur frowns, studying Number Four who has not lowered his head once and whose eyes were staring unblinkingly at him, as if to challenge him to doubt his good faith.

\- "There are still two unexplained issues", points out the king. "_How_ did the prisoner escape and _why_ has he attacked Lord Alined?"

The Dolma opens her mouth to answer and in the same movement Guinevere gags her.

\- "I can explain, sire", she mumbles. "But I think it necessary to do so in private."

Arthur silences the outcry.

\- "Very well", he says sternly. "My lords, my lady, let's go to the small hall where we held the negotiations. We'll be more comfortable. Sir Leon, organize your men and make sure no other threat remains. And arrest all the jugglers, we must understand their involvement in this case. Sir Gwaine, find Sir Perceval, we need someone who can get answers out of Number Four - if he's willing to tell us ... "

\- "Oh, he will tell, I can a_a_ssure you", the Dolma interrupts in her nasal voice. She snorts at the glare he shots her and puts her hands on her hips – yet again. "Aren't you forgetting something, Great King? Or should I say _someone_?"

Arthur shakes his head, enough baffled to forget his urge to bark "be quiet, old crone!"

\- "Your _servant_", rattles the not-so-old woman, rolling her eyes.

The king's face darkens.

\- "Know your place, nurse", he replies in that voice that no one ever dares countering. "I'm well aware of what we owe Merlin. I'll deal with this later."

The Dolma crosses her arms and botches a bow, angrily pursing her lips.

Arthur feels her glare boring a hole in between his collarbones like a heated blade as he leaves the room, and he wonders _what_ on Earth he did to deserve such animosity.

He does not need to ask anymore once he has spoken with Guinevere in private.

With a ghastly sheen on his brow, he goes to the room where the negotiations took place, struggling hard to walk straight and not give in to the nausea roiling in his stomach. His blue eyes become almost black when they turn to Alined and the almost inaudible crackling in his carefully controlled voice tells Olaf enough to understand that he _knows_.

\- "Our stay is coming to an end", slowly states the King of Deira. "Arthur Pendragon, on behalf of the noble fellows here, thank you for your hospitality. It is with great pleasure that I saw the birth of the _friendship_ of our kingdoms and my best wishes go to the swift recovery of the Sarrum of Amata, our _brother_ in this alliance. It is great pity that he could not be with us to celebrate the signing of the _peace_ treaty."

Arthur nods, teeth grinding. A drop of sweat is running down his jaw when he musters the strength to answer with a crooked smile.

\- "It is great pity, indeed."

Caterina does not feel the nuance in the words and babbles her promises to come back _soon_.

Alined mumbles that all this murdering business was appalling and that he will be glad to be on his way now that all _threats_ have been discarded.

Arthur barely manages to utter his farewell. A vein is throbbing on his forehead, blue and swollen, and Caterina worries a bit about his health.

Olaf offers to escort the Queen with his daughter - who would _love_ to see the splendors of Bernicia - and thus diverts attention from the strange stiff attitude of the king of Camelot.

Nobody touched the luncheon.

In the Round Table Hall, Geoffrey of Monmouth carefully puts away the peace treaty bearing the four signatures. There is a stain of blood on the richly ornate velvet in which the precious parchment is folded.

* * *

oOoOoOo

* * *

Perceval finds Arthur on the ramparts from where the man is watching the three escorts go away, biting his lips, knuckles white as he clenches his fists.

\- "Sire, there's something you need to know."

The king's shoulders are hunched under his red cloak.

\- "Speak".

\- "The one who released Number Four ... it's the boy who was often with Merlin. The young minstrel named Daegal. Apparently he was in cahoots with Myror."

\- "Have you arrested him? Do we know why he would do such a thing?"

\- "No, Sire. He has eluded us so far."

The blond man runs a weary hand over his tired face.

\- "Does Merlin know something? Is the clumsy oaf (_his voice trembles a little at the name_) finally out of the wardrobe or whatever stash he was in?"

The brawny man swallows hard.

\- "Merlin has still not been found, Arthur. I don't think he's hiding. I believe he was kidnapped."

* * *

**_TBC_**

* * *

**_We're over 150 reviews ! I'm so thrilled and so grateful ! You are amazing and make me cry and dance with your detailed reviews, always so full of passion ! You are my very drive and I can't thank you enough..._**

**_Now._**

**_Just one more chapter then this part will be over (but not the story, though ^^)._**

**_Sorry for the delay... I got sidetracked by... my researches for the last part of the story, the final arc..._**

**_It's going to be EPIC. HEROIC. MAGNIFISCENT._**

**_But before we even get started with the so excited ending I'm planing (and I hope it'll live up to its trailers ^^), you'll need to go through :_**

**_The Sarrum butting in things he shouldn't... Gwaine and Number Four teaming to save our favorite lanky boy... Gaius facing his past..._**

**_and Arthur finally breaking down._**

**_NEXT CHAPTER : "_Daylight always comes after the darkest hour"**


	28. Daylight comes after the Darkest Hour

** DAYLIGHT ALWAYS COMES AFTER THE DARKEST HOUR**

* * *

He has trouble breathing, his chest rises with difficulty, lashed by the pain of his broken ribs with each intake.

The skin of his wrists is chafed by the rope hanging him from the ceiling of the cell. He no longer feels his numb arms, his legs are not supporting him anymore. He is wet with piss, fear, blood.

The moon gives his white skin an eerie glow and fever glints in his blue eyes filled with tears and pride.

\- "Has he spoken yet?" asks the man whose face is hidden in the shadow.

\- "No. Well, he did blather a wee bit", grunts the tormentor. "Made a list of _cats_ names, described the nurse's wart, admitted he doesn't like his grandfather's porridge."

\- "Maybe you should stop having pity and get serious."

The harelip of the torturer grimaces when he seeks his words carefully, scratching the back of his neck.

\- "It's just a simpleton. Not much older than a child ... Is it _really_ necessary? Surely the king never entrusted any secrets to him."

\- "He was attending the councils standing behind his master when Arthur was only a prince. Do you think these habits have changed afterwards? No, he knows a lot more than he looks like. The citadel's reinforcements, the location of the new tunnels, who are the next realms the king will propose alliance to ..."

\- "I ... won't… tell… you…" pants the prisoner hoarsely, the skin of his parched lips bursting at the effort.

The man hidden in the dark chuckles grimly.

\- "Oh, the old man had said the same thing and he spilled the beans nicely at the end. Sang the whole song, even verses that had never been written. Don't worry, you'll be the same."

The tormentor breathes through his mouth, shifting from one foot to the other, then goes to the table where are displayed the instruments of torture.

A drop of silt water seeps through the ceiling beams and oozes along the rope like a pearl.

In the dark and filthy spiral stairs that go down to the jails, a fourteen years old boy covers his ears when the screaming starts again.

* * *

oOoOoOo

* * *

The Sarrum groans appraisingly as his eyes follow Guinevere rolling the maps the men have studied until very late the night before, on the other side of the long table of the Small Hall.

The young woman's gown is fitted on her hips, tracing the curve of her buttocks under the bole velvet and her embroidered large belt enhances her décolleté. The slight limp due to her twisted ankle does not dim in any way the femininity she doesn't know she's exuding, lost in her thoughts.

\- "You aren't a mere serving girl", the man suddenly states, smacking his lips, a finger absently tugging at the bandage around his neck.

Guinevere looks up, lacing a red cord around the map of Camelot.

\- "No, my Lord", she answers, polite yet wary. "I am the wife of a knight."

\- "You yielded to every whim of the Lady Vivian, though. Didn't have to."

The young woman shrugs.

\- "Someone had to keep her away from the negotiations room", she says simply, storing the maps rolls in a flat chest. "It wasn't that hard and the king needed it to be done. This was reason enough to endure a few days the life I led before my marriage ennobled me."

The Sarrum smirks.

\- "Did Arthur Pendragon assign you to the task? How far would you go to _serve_ him? Are you his whore? Who's your husband? Does he know how _dedicated_ you're to the king?"

His leering gives Guinevere goosebumps and she hurries to close the inkwells and gather the quills on a tray.

\- "Will you need anything else, Your Highness?" she asks in a strained voice. "The king should be back any time soon."

The man sniggers and takes a long swig of wine from his silver goblet.

\- "The assassin knew you'd have the keys to the gallery ... I thought the king shared Alined's tastes, considering the rumors about the handsome idiot following him around, but I was wrong. I saw how he listened to you yesterday. A man does not trust a woman that beautiful, unless he's got her in his bed."

Guinevere blushes violently.

\- "My husband died, my Lord", she utters, trembling with outrage. "Know that he would never forgive such words if he was alive."

Someone clears his throat and they turn their heads to the door.

\- "Sir Lancelot is dead, but he was _my friend_ and _I_ will not suffer anyone insulting his memory nor his wife", says the low and menacing voice of Arthur who is standing in the doorway.

He calmly removes his glove and throws it across the room to the Sarrum's feet.

The red-haired man sneers.

\- "A duel, Pendragon? Between two _allies_?"

\- "Between two _men_", corrects the king icily.

The warrior clad in an armor studded with nailheads stands up slowly.

\- "You'd risk breaking peace for a woman's honor?"

Arthur's features are tense, his jaw clenched and his blue eyes filled with a hateful despair. He did not sleep last night, and his pallor emphasizes his sharp look.

\- "A peace that hurts and taints the people of Camelot does not need to be protected", he articulates with effort.

Guinevere hears what he does not say.

_The unbearable guilt, the regrets clawing at his heart, the anguish clutched on him..._

_Peace at the price of what Merlin had to endure never should have been signed._

The Sarrum of Amata stares at the young king, then a sarcastic smile curls on his narrow lips.

\- "It'd be a simple and fast win, considering how your emotions rule over you now, Arthur Pendragon", he says wryly. "But there is that. Your kingdom's mighty and your allies numerous. Were I to kill you, I'd put my realm under unnecessary strain. Chivalry codes, eh? _Humph_. Bullshit, when the stakes are this high. I wont' fight against you."

He takes a few steps and his soles crush the glove lying on the ground.

\- "Take my advice, Arthur. Odin may have failed this time, but he _will_ try again. Those you so openly care for will be targeted, because they are your weakness. I do not have the army to attack alone and make Odin pay for this scratch, but the day you decide to march on his borders, my sword will be yours. At this cost then only will you find your peace."

He leaves the room and Guinevere sighs with relief.

\- "It was foolish, Sire", she whispers, half angry, half grateful.

The King of Camelot quivers, his face flushed and his hands so cold it startles him when he clenches his fists.

\- "Coward", he exhales.

She is almost sure he is speaking of himself.

* * *

oOoOoOo

* * *

The second day dawns behind the mountains when Percival finally traces again the horse that left town on the night Merlin disappeared. Gwaine's clothes and hair are muddy, and he is exhausted, nerve-wracked from fighting against the horrible scenarios playing in loops in his brain. He did not sleep either since he learned why Number Four attacked Alined and blames himself from not noticing, not protecting Merlin.

Percival is terribly concerned about their young friend, but manages to push back his own worry to focus on the only track they have.

In the beginning, as there was no mention of anyone leaving Camelot, they believed Merlin had been killed and his body thrown into the moat, and they lost valuable time probing the dark, slimy water. Then, in shame, a guard confessed having let out a kid with his sick brother who was sleeping on the nag - Arthur clouted him so hard he almost lost a tooth.

The description of the boy matched that of Daegal. Further into the woods, they found a cloth soaked in a sleep-inducing potion and the tracks led them through the Valley of the Fallen Kings where they lost them in the maze of horseshoes from the frequent passages of bandits.

Percival, fortunately, had noticed that one of the horseshoes of the nag they were following was loose. By dint of patience - _and you need a terrible amount of patience when Gwaine keeps rambling like a hysterical crone_ \- he eventually pined it again.

Now they gaze gloomily at the ruined castle at the end of the rutted and littered with rocks ancient trade route that runs along the cliffs.

\- "The old fortress of Daobeth", mulls over Gwaine.

\- "There's smoke", Percival notes. "It may be them."

In the heavy silence hovers what they do not say, but fear.

Going downhill through the forest, they glimpse a flash of metal in the rising sun and sneak through the trees in that direction, drawing their swords out.

In the clearing, sitting on a tree trunk, shoulders slouched and his head buried in his hands, the lithe teenager who was dancing on the tightrope like an elf a few days before now looks like a beaten puppy.

Percival comes up from behind him and grabs his arms as Gwaine points his sword at the boy's throat.

\- "Where is he?" roars the bearded young man.

Daegal looks up. His face is smeared with tears and grime. His eyes blink rapidly, guiltily – frightened, pleading, pathetic.

\- "I'm s-sorry ... " he stammers. "I'm really s-s-sorry ... I didn't know they w-would ... I d-d-didn't w-w-want this…"

The two men share a aghast look, then the tip of Gwaine's sword nicks the boy's skin.

\- "_Where_ is he?" he repeats through gritted teeth. "What have you done to him? Speak, vermin. Where is Merlin?"

The teenager gulps, terrified.

\- "He wa-wasn't sup-p-posed to... if he had n-not heard ... Myror ..."

\- "Myror is dead", hisses Gwaine. "Speak, or you will find the wrath of the king _mild_ compared to what _I_'ll do to you. Now, TELL US! _Where_ is Merlin?"

Daegal is sniveling so much he can't speak.

\- "Why did you take him out of Camelot? You freed Number Four so he'd saved Arthur, didn't you? You told him someone was after the king. So why did you drug and kidnap Merlin?" presses Percival, his usually calm voice flailing at the sight of the minstrel.

_What happened to put him in such a fretful state?_

_Is Merlin ..._

Anguish clogs Gwaine's ears, cutting off all sounds, almost throwing him off balance. He feels like he is losing his mind.

\- "T'was... Myror", Daegal stutters. "He said I had to t-take Merlin to the m-master ... that it was the only s-solution if I d-didn't want to d-d-die ... he was so m-mad when he ... but I ... oh, I'd n-never... they ... it was ho-o-orrible ... Merlin ... Merlin ... he ... "

His voice is crumbling and with it the hopes of both men.

\- "Is he _alive_?" Gwaine rasps.

Daegal red-rimmed and bloated eyes are avoiding his anxious gaze.

\- "It'd be ... b-better ... if... he w-wasn't ... "

The wind picked up and heavy drops are crashing into the thick foliage of the forest. The sky is gray, low. It will be a rainy day.

They ride at full gallop to go back to Camelot.

* * *

oOoOoOo

* * *

Gaius prepares a potion, but he does not know which one. His gnarled fingers, marbled with brown age spots work with method, precision, speed.

His white hair is falling over his face and he keeps his mouth half-open, as if he could not remember to breathe through the nose.

His burgundy robes sweep the floor of his chambers with a soft rustle. The fire is crackling next to him, the content of the cauldron is gently foaming.

Behind the window dotted by bursts of raindrops, a pale sun plays hide and seek with the clouds.

Everything is so quiet, he is almost tempted to shout "Time to get up Merlin! What are you waiting for? You're going to be late!" but he can see the empty bed, the carefully folded blanket, through the doorway of the small storage room.

His old heart beats so slowly, he fears he is going to turn into stone, right there, in the middle of the room.

_Merlin._

_Give me back Merlin. Give me back my grandson, my joy, my pride, the gift that I did not deserve ... I'll do anything ... I will pay a thousand times the price for my mistakes ... but give him back safe and sound ..._

When the door opens behind him, he spins on his heels so abruptly he sees black spots dancing before his eyes and his legs buckle.

\- "Easy! Sit down, Gaius ... you should take some rest ..." says the voice of the man who caught him before he collapsed and helps him sit on the patients' cot.

He stifles a broken laugh.

\- "You too, sire."

Arthur crouches in front of him, one hand on the knee of the very old man, dismayed at his state of exhaustion. He does not know what he himself looks like, with the shadows under his eyes, the frozen wince on his lips, his stiff neck, the raspy tone of his voice, the fact he's been wearing his armor since yesterday.

\- "Has the Sarrum's party left?

\- "Yes, _finally_", answers the king. "I'm waiting for Percival and Gwaine to return to leave with them. They've been gone so long, they _must_ have found a track."

Gaius nods slowly.

\- "Have you eaten, sire? The bells rang noon, a moment ago."

\- "Why does everybody ask me that stupid question? How could I, when Merlin's still missing…", the king mumbles, looking away.

He stands up, walks slowly to the window, leans his elbow against the window and watches the rain pouring on Camelot.

\- "I failed him, Gaius ..." he whispers. "All this time, he was trying to tell me something was wrong ... and I ignored him... yelled at him… sent him to this… this ..."

Bile coils up in his throat and he gags, forcing himself to swallow back the nausea.

\- "If they have ... if he... I will never forgive myself."

He clenches his fists, his blue eyes stubbornly staring at the gray town on which weeps the sky.

\- "I lost him ... it's my fault ... I betrayed him ..."

Gaius gets up painfully and approaches him. He puts his hand on the blond man's shoulder for a moment, then crosses his arms in his wide sleeves and lets his gaze travel through the window.

\- "I remember it like it was yesterday. The woman I loved died giving birth, too. She was not much older than Queen Mithian, almost as frail. I grieved for her. But I was an ambitious man, devoted to science. I didn't have time to spare for a child."

Arthur is listening, as if the slow rhythm of the words soothed his fever more than what they actually mean.

\- "It was Alice who took care of the babe. Then I took him as my apprentice. By the time he was coming of age, we were rivals in the field of medicine and never agreed on most things. I did love him, though. He was intelligent, hardworking, you never tired of talking with him."

The old man returns to the cot with heavy steps, and his bones creak as he slumps down. Arthur sits on the windowsill, his hands clasped between his knees. He would give anything for his mind to stop fretting.

\- "That's why when he started to be part of the secret society of the _dragonlords_, I tried to warn him. I feared for his life more than I'd never cared about him. But he didn't listen to me. He was so adamant, so thrilled by the new and dangerous ideas of these people. I knew it wouldn't end well.

His weary eyes meet those of the king.

\- "A country ruled by commoners without much education was a utopia. It would only lead to another civil war, and we had just been through the Great Purge. Someone would eventually rise again and Camelot risked falling into the hands of _yet another_ warlord thirsting for wealth and power."

Arthur frowns and Gaius stifles a bitter laugh.

\- "Your father was a good king, Sire. When he took over Camelot, he proved there was more to him than just greed and lust for violence. At the time, he was young and he cared for his people. He was strict but fair. He represented hope for this country. I _wanted_ to believe in him."

In the hearth, the foaming broth is dousing the fire.

\- "I went to see Uther, I denounced the _dragonlords_ ... I made sure someone found out the son of Lord Aredian was one of them… and the king made an example of him – the young man was hanged. Balinor didn't know it was me. The death of one of their kin didn't stop the _dragonlords_ from meeting and they gathered more supporters. So I ... I betrayed my son. I learned where they would meet next and I told the king."

Arthur is listening, holding his breath. The old man avoids his gaze, pulling on a loose thread of his robes.

\- "I tried to prevent Balinor from going there on the fateful day. But the look in his eyes when he understood what I had done, sire ... I hope you'll never have to face such a look ..."

He shudders.

\- "He said ... he said he would die with his brothers if this was his destiny. He was arrested along them and Uther had them executed ... all of them, except for Balinor. The king banished him. It was not long after you were born, Arthur. I guess he didn't want me to watch my son die. We were ... sort of ... as much as it was possible, despite our status ... _friends_ ... I suppose. Or so I thought."

Arthur looks down. The old man waves apologetically.

\- "He wasn't like you knew him at the end of his days, obsessed with potential threats of sorcery and revolt, quick to burn at the stake anyone who spoke against him. Time, power, pressure, bad advisors, the loss of Lady Ygraine, mistakes that couldn't be fixed… _that_ turned him into the cold man you remember. He was _alone_."

Gaius's eyes mist up and his voice grates a bit.

\- "That's why you need to keep Merlin at your side, Arthur, if you don't want to change. Merlin will never be wavered by power or treasures ..."

He smiles.

\- "Well, I guess you could make him forget his tasks of the day with a few shining trinkets and a kitten."

They chuckle softly together, then the old physician sobers again.

\- "But Merlin will never forget where his loyalty lies. His love and his heart are pure, genuine. There's not even a hint of deceit in him. He knows what you are and he will help you stay the same, as long as you remember he can _see_ the dream that you and I barely glimpse through the vagaries of life."

He gets up and comes to the king, slowly bends down to look at him in the eyes.

\- "Sire ... don't make the same mistake I did ... you lost Mithian, but you still have Albion, and Merlin, to show you the way. Remember the promises you made at the Round Table, that night, long ago. Get to know the little girl, spend time with her. Don't let sorrows take the best of you. Look at the world you've created: it is beautiful and sincere like a child. There is no other kingdom like the one you're building. The dream of my son ... that dream I shattered ... you gave life to it."

Arthur drops his head and contemplates his clasped hands.

\- "If ... if we find him ... if it's even possible ..."

\- "We _will_ save him, sire."

The old man does not have time to add anything, because they hear the clatter of riders barging in the courtyard and the king jumps up, forgetting his doubts, his fears, his moment of weakness.

\- "They're back!"

* * *

oOoOoOo

* * *

Gwaine talks almost without breathing, his hands slammed on the table, his legs trembling from both fatigue and the urge to go back to Daobeth.

Percival keeps an eye on Daegal, but the boy hardly dares sniveling, terrified by the glower of the king.

Gaius has collapsed in a chair and Guinevere is sitting on his armrest, clinging to his shoulder, silent tears streaming on her cheeks.

Sir Leon is standing very straight, next to Arthur.

\- "... and if Daegal distracts them, we can infiltrate the citadel and rescue Merlin", concludes Gwaine. "Ten men would be enough. We need to strike tonight. Tomorrow's the full moon."

They have eventually disentangled and reconstructed the events.

Myror abandoned his first plan (a dagger in the chest) in favor of the crossbow when he found out someone had overheard their secret.

In his rage, he swore to Daegal that if they failed to kill the king of Camelot and to ruin the negotiations, their lives would be worth nothing - apparently it was the last chance given to him by Odin.

He doped Merlin and ordered his young accomplice to take the servant to the fortress of Daobeth.

Daegal obeyed but, hoping to stop the dreadful spiral that made him sick after three days spent in the company of Merlin's innocent friendship, he offered the guards a drugged wine and opened the gates for Number Four, telling him to save the king.

Slowly, very slowly, wishing that everything would be discovered and that somehow he would be saved in the process, Daegal left for Daobeth during the night ...

To his horror, instead of locking Merlin in a dungeon until the arrival of King Odin - scheduled for full moon - their master decided to extract the maximum information from the manservant and subjected him to torture.

When he could not stand anymore the sound of the screams of the prisoner, the boy ran away from the fortress and that is when the knights found him.

\- "If only he had _told_ Number Four he was taking Merlin..." Gwaine hisses.

\- "If he'd done so, then the king would have probably died", Sir Leon completes, and the thought sends a shiver down his spine.

\- "Why?" Gaius mutters. "_Why_ did your master suddenly change his plans?"

\- "He ... re-recognized him", Daegal stammers. "He seemed so ... _pleased_."

Arthur flinches as if he was just waking from a dream.

\- "Are the men ready, Percival?" he asks in a strange disembodied voice.

\- "Yes, sire."

\- "Then let's go."

In the courtyard, next to the horses, two guards are holding the arms of Number Four. The man struggles free when they pass by him and falls on one knee at the feet of Arthur before anyone can make a move.

The king looks at him for a moment, then he nods.

A few minutes later, under the drizzle, though the white mist wafting on the hills, seven knights dressed in red, a former drunk, a silent giant, a king, a prisoner and a minstrel are riding with a united heart to the rescue of a servant.

* * *

oOoOoOo

* * *

Gwaine crouches at the top of the stairs and motions to the three men behind him, before turning his head to the sharp profile of Number Four, who is watching the shadows dancing on the curve of the wall going down to the dungeons.

_Arthur's signal is to be expected soon._

The bearded young man tries to steady the erratic breathing pounding in his chest: of all the battles he fought, there was never one more important, more crucial, that he was more keen to win.

_He is ready for anything. Even dying, if necessary._

He does not even want to think about what they did to Merlin.

_"He was begging, calling "Arthur ... Arthur ... Gwaine ... " and sobbing because nobody came and the torturer kept working ..." told Daegal, overwhelmed by his guilt._

Gwaine feels like if the world became empty and deafening whenever he dares to imagine what Merlin went through – and right now, it is _not_ the time to lose focus.

_He will save Merlin._

_His friend._

_His very first friend._

His throat is tight and he blinks to get rid of his emotion, focusing again on the noise downstairs, the voices, the clatter of plates and tankards.

On his left, Number Four rolls his shoulders like a predator on the hunt. His lips curls up on his yellow and uneven teeth like if he bared fangs, his eyes narrow, his muscles tense.

He slips a hand into his shirt and pulls out a bone whistle hanging from a string.

Gwaine wipes his sweaty palm on his thigh and firmly grips the hilt of his sword. He shares a glance with his men, then meets the gaze of the warrior he hated for over a year.

_Together._

_Leaving the rest aside._

_To save Merlin._

The White Shadow nods in understanding.

Arthur's signal sounds out of the castle, the yelp of a fox followed by a hooting.

_It is time._

Derian brings the whistle to his lips and suddenly the fortress is filled by a death shriek, the wild screeching of a mourning soul, as the men rush down the stairs to attack.

They are not many, as Dageal said. Taken by surprise, they barely have time to grab their swords and the knights strike without pity. The soot stained ceilings crumble in a thin smoke, swords glisten in a grinding of metal, blood, sweat, rattling mingle with dust and the smell of rain.

Gwaine storms forwards, alternating violent blows, kicks and large reels of his blade. He finds himself back to back with someone and casts a glance over his shoulder while fighting.

There is something almost laughable to the fact he is the shortest among the knights and finds himself paired with Number Four who's almost taller than Percival.

Arthur and the others charge down the other staircase and the noise, the brawl, become even more confused.

Gwaine looks for the access to the cells, spots the keys hanging from a nail - then Daegal who snuck through the battle like a rat and is tiptoeing to get them.

He thumps a mercenary against the wall, jostles his way to the kid and covers him while he unlocks the door to the jails, then hurls his shoulder against the wooden panel to open it, dashes into the small musty corridor.

Behind them, the battle's noises are dimming and a pair of boots is rushing after them.

\- "He's here!" squeals Daegal, stopping in front of a door and clinging to the bars of the small opening at eyes level.

Arthur shoves Gwaine aside and opens the door.

They barge into the cell ...

... And freeze, horrified.

* * *

oOoOoOo

* * *

Percival is going through his report for the umpteenth time and it does not make more sense than when they were in action. In addition, there is no way he will manage to remember all the turns of phrase by the time they go back to Camelot. Sir Leon will pull on his hair, but Gwaine will _never_ write _this_ report, so someone has to do it.

And focusing on something that complicated actually helps.

* * *

_"When Sir Gwaine and His Majesty came back from the cell with Merlin, we had under taken control over all the bandits._

_Derian / Number IV showed discipline and courage on this mission, proving worthy of the trust of the king. In my humble opinion, forgiveness must be considered in his regard._

_It is thanks to him that we were not taken by surprise by the arrival of the man who had ordered these unforgivable actions against Camelot._

_We were aghast to discover Lord Aredian, felon once banished by His Highness Uther Pendragon, had sworn allegiance to King Odin._

_From what the lad Daegal testified, we figured Lord Aredian had tortured Merlin, recognizing him for the ward of Gaius whom he had in hate from long ago._

_Lord Aredian was killed by Number IV at the very moment he commanded his men to strike at His Majesty._

_We left the fortress of Daobeth and V of our companions stayed behind to monitor the arrival of King Odin and are awaiting larger forces to apprehend him."_

* * *

Words can not express what they have experienced, though.

The bubbling adrenaline in their veins and the cold shock that almost killed them when they came across the frail and broken body of Merlin hanged by the wrists into the cell.

The feral howl Gwaine let out, like a wounded animal.

Lord Aredian's insane laughter when his men came down the steps, pointing their crossbows at Arthur who was carrying Merlin wrapped in his cloak.

Number Four leaping like a rabid wolf and slicing through Lord Aredian's skull with a single blow of his sword.

The blood spatter that spurt everywhere, on all of them.

Leaving the dungeons, the orders thrown by Arthur whose eyes had turned black.

The horses driven at a hellish pace until dawn.

And - _suddenly_ – a strangled cry of pain coming out of the scarlet cloak.

The morning is gloomy as if the night had not quite left the clouds.

They stopped, formed a circle. They are still far from Camelot, but they can not continue now that Merlin has regained consciousness.

Sir Elyan is lighting the fire, while his cousin went to get wood. Percival is sitting next to Daegal whose teeth are chattering as much from retrospective fear and guilt than from the cold. The brawny man has started to mentally prepare his report to try forgetting what he saw as he cleansed Merlin's wounds.

Number Four went to fetch water and prepared strips of linen, honey and the other basic medical supplies that Gaius had given them to tend to the most urgent injuries.

Arthur and Gwaine could not do a single thing.

Merlin was not really aware of his surroundings, only lost in a fog of pain and terror, writhing on the ground as the sensations returned to his limbs, like thousands of white-hot needles. His torso is covered in burn marks and scabs, there are at least four broken ribs under his bruised skin. He also had a dislocated shoulder and Number Four at least fixed that, causing a scream that made all the men turn white.

But the worst thing is his left knee, which sight sent Gwaine into the bushes to throw up.

Arthur did not blink or budge while the two giants were making a makeshift splint to immobilize the crushed bones, taking advantage of the fact Merlin had passed out again – and Percival felt really sorry to see him so helpless.

Daegal was sent to bury the torn and sullied clothes and probably considered never coming back, given how much time it took him. He finally stumbled again in the circle illuminated by the fire, dropped on the tree trunk where Percival joined him after bathing the frail body of the servant. Number Four applied poultices and bandaged the wounds before he dressed Merlin in a fresh set of tunic and breeches, as carefully as if he was swaddling an infant. Then he sat away from the fire and very seriously cleaned his sword.

Sir Elyan had cooked some meat, but nobody managed to swallow more than a few bites.

Gwaine disappeared into the forest too and he is not back yet.

Above them, the clouds unfurl in dark whorls. The birds are flying low, like fast black arrows.

It is probably close to noon, yet it looks like it is already evening.

Arthur is still kneeling at the same spot, next to the pile of blankets under which lays his unconscious servant.

_They have to hit the road, to hurry back to Camelot._

_They must ..._

The words blend in his brain like a hair in oatmeal.

_Maybe this is all just a dream._

_Maybe if he shuts tight his eyes and pray and count to ten ... he will be back to last year at the same time ..._

The blankets stir and a hand slips out, falling in the grass.

_It can not be the hand of Merlin, not with these fingers like burst purple sausages - his fingers are slender and white even though they're accustomed to hard labor._

Involuntarily, Arthur reaches out to tuck the hand under the blanket again, but the fingertips tremble when he touches them.

\- "Ar't'r ..."

His manservant's voice is hoarse and weaker than a breath.

\- "I'm here, Merlin", the king whispers.

The eyelashes flicker, glassy cobalt orbs finally focus on him.

And relief graces the contorted features.

Something breaks inside Arthur.

_I betrayed you._

_I abandoned you._

_I let them do that to you._

_I failed my promise, I failed you, I'm not the one you thought I was._

_I lied._

_From the beginning, I've been lying. To myself, to my country, to you._

Merlin moans and shuts his eyes against the pain. His fingers twitch as if trying to hold on something.

Arthur hesitates.

And then he takes the hand into his.

_It is cold. So cold and so weak._

\- "Merlin?"

He must bend to hear what the young man is stammering.

\- "Don't l-let them t-take me again…"

\- "I won't. I swear", the king mutters.

_He was alone._

_So terribly alone and helpless._

Merlin squirms painfully, seeking his presence of the blond man like a kitten the flank of his mother.

\- "They wan-ted… to know y-your s-secrets..."

He reopens his scared blue eyes and they are still blurred by a begging cry that pierces Arthur's soul.

\- "T-told th'm… not'ing… g-goes out… of t'h Great Hall…"

The king remembers being very clear about that.

\- "You did well, Merlin", he whispers, trying to underline his tone with pride and failing miserably. "You were extremely brave. They must have been furious."

The words are barely out of his mouth he would like to smack himself for being so blunt.

\- "They… w-were… m-mean…"

A sob.

_Frightened, painful, lost._

_So pathetic._

Merlin leans closer to Arthur, as if trying to hide in the folds of the vermeil cloak.

\- "I d-didn't say… a-anyth'in…I p-promise…"

\- "I know, Merlin", rasps the king. "I know. _Shsh_… it's over. You're safe. I'm here. Rest, now."

Merlin obeys, shivering in his sleep.

As the back of Arthur begins to ache from the awkward way he's sitting, the king finally lies down on a blanket next to his servant and puts his arm over Merlin's head, still holding his hand. He closes his eyes and allows himself to doze a little.

Gwaine came back and he is now sitting with his back against the tree trunk. He watches them, silent and tense, as if all smiles and hopes had been ripped off from him.

Percival sleeps with his arms crossed on his chest, snoring. Sir Elyan has taken the watch while his cousin naps. Daegal is curled up on the ground.

On the other side of the fire, Number Four is still awake, his sword resting against his shoulder, sitting cross-legged.

Arthur rolls in his sleep and his hand lets go of his servant's.

The young man whimpers in his feverish slumber, searching it unconsciously.

\- "I'm here", mumbles the king in his sleep, wrapping him in his arms.

Merlin snuggles against the padded jacket, breathing in the familiar scent, buries his bruised face in this reassuring warmth, nuzzling close to the sound of the heart that beats slowly, strong and brave like a lion's.

One hour passes, maybe two. Time does not matter anymore. They are too tired to think of the others waiting for them.

Arthur rouses when he hears crying and first thinks it is from a dream. Then he cracks an eye open and understands it is Merlin, clinging to him as if he was afraid he'd disappear.

\- "H-hurts…"

He is weeping quietly, as if he was holding it back, and Arthur cradles the burning brow against his shoulder, stroking the mop of black hair, murmuring soothing words.

\- "I thought… you'd n-n-never c-come... y-you said ... you d-d-didn't… w-want to s-see m-me… any-more…"

\- "I'm sorry. I'm _so_ sorry, Merlin…"

His shoulders tremble as fall the last barriers of all he has repressed during the past months. All he has lost and all he could have lost. What he has and he did not know he possessed. What was in fact a gift that he took for granted.

* * *

_"What's your name?"_

_"Idiot?"_

_"No, your _real_ name."_

_"Merlin."_

* * *

_"He doesn't want me ..."_

_"That's not true! He was just caught by surprise."_

* * *

_"How could I be a good king? I should have saved them ..."_

_"It's not your fault ... I'm here ... I'm sorry I left you for awhile..."_

* * *

_"You're not scared?"_

_"Oh, I am, Merlin. Maybe more than you ..."_

* * *

_"The duty of a king, I don't know. But my duty, I do. I will protect you, Arthur. I'm going to be at your side, like I always am."_

* * *

_"You have forgotten! You don't care for what's important anymore!"_

_"Why should I care about you? You're nothing."_

* * *

He feels the tears scorching his eyes and spilling on his cheeks and he should not be whining like a girl, damn, he's the king of Camelot, it's the middle of the day and ...

\- "Ar'thur ..."

He has trouble seeing, even with quickly wiping his face with the back of his sleeve.

The blue eyes of his servant are looking at him again and despite the wince of pain on his angular face, kindness graces his both so childish and so mature features.

\- "It's o-okay", Merlin whispers. "It's a-all right to c-cry ..."

Arthur lets out a chuckle that sounds like a sob and it is his turn to bury his face against the skinny shoulder of his oldest friend, his young brother, to hide his grief and his pain.

* * *

_"You looking for somethin' ?"_

_"Yes, actually."_

_… You. I had lost you._

* * *

Arthur eventually drifts into a fitful slumber, but his arms do not let go of the frail, broken body he rescued from hell.

Nobody has made a move around the fire.

_Everything is quiet._

_The nightmare is over._

The clouds are lined with gold as if dawn had finally come, late but faithful.

* * *

**_TBC_**

* * *

**_Based on episodes 5x09, 5x08, 4x06, 4x07, 2x10, 2x05, 2x06, 2x02._**

* * *

**_Okay, I'm going ahead and posting even though it's almost 2 AM on this side of the world. Hopefully I won't be completely devastated at the number of mistakes when reading it tomorrow..._**

**_ I just wanted to make sure you wouldn't be fretting all week-end long. Your reviews saved me this week as some pretty bitter things happened in my life and I really REALLY want to thank you. I'll make sure you get PM answers to them before I post the next chapter... _**

**_... which will be fluff at full swing to help us recover from the terrible ordeal! Get ready with marshmallows and hot chocolate, good cuppa and Saintsbury's enormous cookies, it's time for cuteness overload._**

**_NEXT CHAPTER : A HUNDRED AND ONE LETTERS_**


	29. One Hundred and One Letters

**_I am SO SORRY you guys had to go through this terrible wait. Long story short, my boss decided to relocate me on another site and in two weeks time I had to adjust to new colleagues, new public transports, new instructions. Anyway. It should be fine now. By the way, it's still my birthday (for at least 10 more minutes), today. And this chapter is my gift to YOU whom I love deeply. Your support is the joy and the strenght of my life!_**

* * *

**ONE HUNDRED AND ONE LETTERS**

* * *

For almost a week, the Court physician's chambers are off-limits for them.

Gaius grimly said Merlin's chances were very thin and that he would not accept to be _cluttered_ with _useless_ people as he worked to save his grandson.

Guinevere is the only one he lets in and out. The servants besiege her with questions, but she just bites her lips, shaking her head, silent tears streaming down her cheeks:_ Merlin has not woken up yet. The fever is not breaking. They do not know if he will keep his leg, the risk of infection is still too high_.

The evening of the day they came back to Camelot with their precious cargo, Gwaine went to the tavern and Sir Leon had to go fish him out of it after four days. The commanding officer put the knight in the dungeons to sober him up and Daegal begged the guards to put him in a cell as distant as possible from the drunk's wrath.

Number Four and Percival returned to Daobeth to be part of the ambush. Odin never came, however - probably warned by a spy. They joined the patrols scouring the country between the ruined castle and Cornwall's borders.

Every day, George gives a cup of milk to the crippled kitten.

Arthur beats training dummies under the rain that keeps pouring. He barely sleeps and eats nothing. He has never been so stern during the councils. He mops around the castle when night falls and always finds his steps leading him to the same place, behind the wooden door he is not allowed to open.

They are waiting, waiting, waiting.

They do not dare to hope.

_Do they have the right to?_

_They did _not_ save Merlin. If he is in this state, hanging by a thread to life, it is _their_ fault._

Whilst the little princess sleeps, the Dolma leaves her with Guinevere and sneaks up to the court physician's chambers. She settles on a stool next to the bed and strokes Merlin's black hair, changes the wet cloth on his forehead, and sings Hunith's lullaby tirelessly. His face as white as the pillow turned to her as if he could hear her in his troubled slumber, the young man rests a bit better. The nightmares recede, the fever gives him some respite.

At night, when Gaius is alone to take care of his grand-son, the old man struggles to hold in his emotion. The fire crackles in the hearth, warm and comforting, but Merlin is shivering, mumbling unconsciously, moaning and calling Arthur, muttering that he is sorry, that he regrets what he said, that he will be good ...

The burn marks turn into smooth pink blisters, the scabs give way to white scars, the bruises fade in yellow shadows then disappear. But ointments, poultices and potions can not heal the wounds caused by words and anguish.

Every time Gaius changes the bandages of his grandson's knee, anxiously watching for signs of the infection he fears, he can not help thinking that even if he does recover, something might remain broken forever.

_How do you patch up a shattered heart?_

After a week, the rain stops. The weather warms up, a blue sky unfolds above the tiles crowning the towers, the sun like a golden coin dries the thatched roofs of the lower town. In the terrace gardens, the first roses of the year are blooming. The grass is tender and bright green. Swallows nest in the royal stables, chirruping blithely.

On an afternoon the weather permits it, Guinevere opens the windows of the court physician's chambers and welcomes the pristine breeze and the warm sunrays into the room where the stale air is strained by the heavy and stuffy smell of suffering and soiled linens. She collects the dirty sheets and shirts and puts them in a basket to wash later, then goes back to sit on the stool with her knitting.

\- "He's breathing better", she says with satisfaction, tucking up the soft blanket under Merlin's chin. "The fever is clearly dropping."

Standing behind the table, Gaius puckers his brows while grinding leaves in a bowl.

\- "Make sure he's not cold."

\- "He's got two of these nice blankets, he'll be fine", assures the young woman. "I'm sure it's good for him to breathe in the spring air."

She takes up her needles – a plain stitch, a purl mesh - then rests the scarf on her lap.

\- "Will he soon wake up, Gaius? The king was able to talk to him on the night they saved him. Why has he not regained consciousness since then? I mean ... it's better, no doubt, with his leg in this state and all these terrible injuries that needed to be dressed, but ..."

The old man heaves a sigh.

\- "Maybe he's afraid to come back to the world of the living, Guinevere. Perhaps he believes that if he opens his eyes, he'll still be prisoner in the hellish castle. Or in the hallway with ... when ... what the Dolma told us. Or on the training ground, the day ... the words of the King went beyond his thought."

\- "Oh, Merlin ..." breathes the young woman, tears welling up in her eyes. "It's over, I promise. It won't happen ever again ... we are so, so sorry ... please, come back to us ..."

She leans over and kisses the manservant's forehead.

\- "We love you, Merlin ..." she croons, her fingertips tracing his angular features, the hollow cheeks, the parched skin, the brow beaded with sweat. "We love you so much ... don't leave us..."

Gaius feels his throat tighten and focuses on his crushed leaves.

Someone knocks discretely on the door.

\- "Come in", calls the court physician, thinking it is the Dolma.

The king opens hesitantly.

\- "Oh", gasps Guinevere, nibbling her lower lip.

\- "I saw the open window", Arthur mutters, not daring to step in the room. "I thought ... maybe ..."

Gaius shakes his head.

The king does not retreat, his eyes riveted to the bed. His gaze burns as he takes in the state of extreme emaciation of his manservant, the leg elevated with pillows and imprisoned in a wooden device that looks like a torture instrument, the broken ribs painfully rising and falling with every intake of breath.

Guinevere puts her knitting in the basket next to the bed and gets up slowly, as to not startle a bird. Her dress rustles on the floor when she comes to the king and gently takes his arm, after sharing a glance with Gaius.

\- "Come, Sire", she prompts gently. "Sit down next to him."

Arthur obeys mechanically.

\- "Tell him something."

\- "But he's asleep", blunders the king.

\- "N'no", a small voice whispers.

Guinevere stifles a cry, putting her hands over her mouth, Gaius rushes to the bed as fast as his robes and his paunchy belly let him, Arthur freezes.

The cobalt orbs are looking at them under the fringe of dark lashes.

\- "My boy", stammers the old man.

\- "Merlin", the King chokes.

It requires a big effort to keep his eyes open, but he is awake. He does not stir, too exhausted, but his lips curl in a faint smile.

Guinevere chuckles, wiping a tear.

The young man drifts back to sleep shortly after, but it is enough to give them wild hopes. The news spread quickly. Camelot shakes up like a bear after a long winter, the castle starts bustling with animation.

Finally sober, Gwaine resumes to his duties. Percival and Number Four come back from patrol; it's as if everyone was picking up on living again, now that Merlin is back to his place among them.

It takes time, but step by step, they move towards healing together.

At first he lacks the strength to stay awake longer than a few minutes, barely enough time to make him swallow some soup. It is a blessing more than anything else, because with consciousness also returns the sensation of pain and he often sobs for it to stop, especially at night.

Guinevere keeps spending her days beside him, never complaining to have to change the soiled sheets or when he leaves scratches in her palm when she holds his hand while they change his bandages or check on the wooden knee-brace.

Gaius has dragged his bed close to his grandson's so that Merlin can touch him when he wakes up in the middle of the night and feels alone, terrified, abandoned.

Sir Leon brought a blond lock from his eldest daughter who just had her hair cut for the very first time and told the manservant how his youngest, who is barely older than the princess bursts in trills every time he mimics a duck.

Number Four crouched beside the bed so that Merlin could touch his throat and feel the solicitous purr, while his black eyes conveyed deep affection.

Percival sat on a chair too small for him and said that passing through the forest they glimpsed a doe with her two fawns and counted an unreasonable amount of rather cheeky rabbits with fluffy tails.

When Gwaine leaned to him remorsefully, Merlin just tied his arms around his neck and hugged him. The knight struggled to hide the tears dripping into his beard as he held his friend close.

_This is the hardest thing._

_Knowing that he does not resent them, only cares that they came to save him, has forgotten how they neglected him, simply rejoices to have them around him again, as if it were all that mattered, as if there was no need for excuses or regrets._

_They feel so unworthy of his friendship._

_They know they can never match it._

_So they try to move forward with this weight, both encouraged and humbled._

Arthur saw in Merlin's eyes the look Gaius had spoken of. That look filled with sadness and incomprehension, impossible to withstand.

He saw it when Daegal was brought into the court physician's chambers, before the prisoner was to be taken beyond the borders of Cantia and sent to exile.

Merlin cowered instinctively on seeing the boy. He nodded while Daegal was sniveling and asking him for forgiveness, but his blue eyes were dilated with retrospective terror and unformulated questions.

Arthur shuddered, picturing the desperate look in the eyes of his manservant hanging from the ceiling in a dark cell, as the door closed behind the friend who had betrayed him.

_He knows he deserves that look, too._

_This is why he agreed to let Daegal speak._

_Because he wishes to tell Merlin how sorry he is but does not know where to start ..._

He wakes up drenched in sweat in the middle of the night and the echoes of his nightmares are pounding in his ears.

_Merlin is crying for help and he is the one who slams the door._

The guilt follows him under the oak tree where he gives his audiences as spring blooms under the warm bright sun. People ask news of Merlin, want to know when he will come with his master again to visit the village, cook pies for him, have so many stories to share with him.

Arthur envies their ease to find a topic of conversation, him who never knows what to say while his servant babbles softly, lying on his bed, his fingers clinging to the edge of the king's shirt, as if to make sure he _is_ there.

Merlin talks more and more as his strength builds and smiles at his friends, but shadows of fear are still lurking somewhere deep in his eyes.

The Dolma comes every day and brings Albion with her. The little princess, who does not like to be seated, strongly pushes on her small legs, holds high her chubby neck and totes her fingers in her mouth, chirping gleefully. The nurse's visits, in late afternoon, coincide with those of the king as if on purpose and, in time, he comes to enjoy this moment. Merlin kisses the baby girl's forehead when it is time to go to bed and he does the same, takes his daughter in his arms and makes faces to see if she will giggle like Sir Leon's youngest, and for the pleasure of hearing Merlin chortle with the same spontaneity as before.

Without realizing it, Arthur's grief and guilt fade away, gradually, as he tries to bring back the lopsided grin on the angular features of his servant.

He involves himself in the training sessions and describes to Merlin the epic falls of the knights and the new moves they learned.

He listens with renewed interest to the grievances of the people to be able to give news of the peasants who are like family to his manservant.

He captures butterflies in his big calloused hands because he never tires of seeing the spark of wonder in the blue eyes when he sets them free in the court physician's chambers.

It is when he sees Geoffrey of Monmouth bringing Merlin one of the books he and Mithian have read and reread in the royal library, that Arthur finds his best idea.

The next day, just before leaving, he slips into Gaius' hand a folded paper and oozes off before the old man can ask anything.

This is the first letter.

It contains only a few trite lines - the king was never very comfortable with prose - but the beaming gaze that welcomes him the next night is worth all the gold in the world.

Merlin says nothing, does not even mention the letter, but when Arthur takes his leave after gently tousling his manservant's dark hair, Gaius walks him to the door and hands him a tiny scroll of parchment. The old man's eyes are moist with emotion and gratitude.

The king does not wait to be in his room, he sits on a windowsill in the spiral staircase to untie the small blue ribbon and unfold the paper.

* * *

_"Helo Sire,_

_Aw are yo doimq?_

_Hofe you triep Kook's new dumqlinqs? Gwaine likemed them to freshely lain frogsipawn wraqqed in o piq snat._

_Thamk you becoze you comto sea me every day._

_Merlin"_

* * *

Arthur laughs as he deciphers the heartfelt scrawl, but a tear trickles down his jaw.

He writes again the next day.

* * *

_"Hello Dollophead,_

_Gwaine is right, these dumplings are absolutely disgusting. George himself struggled to swallow a spoonful. Thanks for telling me, I had him taste them before I tried them._

_Yesterday I saw one of the swallows nesting in the stables. The fledglings will be born when you will be up, so prepare to watch your cats: the big one sleeping in your gelding's stall has an eye on them._

_Listen carefully to your grandfather and hurry to get better._

_Arthur"_

* * *

Weeks are going by, spring gives way to early summer, and the letters stack up, filled with nonsense and deep friendship, serious questions and stupid puns, little and great things.

Merlin's ribs are healing well, he eats with more appetite, has less nightmares and he is eager to go back to work - Arthur too, there are limits to the number of jokes on brass a man can put up with.

But when the manservant is finally allowed to put his feet on the ground and carefully stand up with the help of Number Four and Percival, what Gaius kept buried inside his heart until then becomes obvious to all.

Merlin's leg will never be back to normal.

He will be able to walk on his own after some time, maybe even run, but he will always limp.

That night, Merlin's letter is speckled with transparent wet stars, even if it is a promise to Arthur that he will be fine.

The king is devastated, overtaken by the guilt he had almost managed to get rid of. He carefully chooses his words, then folds the paper and stamps the red wax with his royal seal.

* * *

_"There will always be a place for you in Camelot, Merlin, no matter what._

_I don't need you to be perfect._

_You were always by my side, and I don't want anyone else but you."_

* * *

On the parchment Gaius hands him the next day, there is only one word.

* * *

_"Thank you."_

* * *

There is a drawing, too, though. A dragon spreading his wings and a knight in armor wearing a crown.

Arthur looks at it for a very long time, then puts it with the other letters in the wooden case on his nightstand.

* * *

oOoOoOo

* * *

When Merlin begins to walk with crutches, he receives an invitation in due form for a picnic in the woods. Arthur has decided that fresh air would do good to his servant whom is pale and weakened from the long months he was bedridden.

The fact the chosen date is also the anniversary of his wedding to Mithian prevents anybody from making comments about that day of recreation.

Gaius has approved and watches fondly his grandson who is twittering excitedly while Percival hoists him on the back of his horse. Number Four helps the Dolma to get on her mare. The nurse blushes and coos when the silent giant slides her foot in the stirrup before suddenly scolding like a harpy Gwaine who is checking the straps attaching the wicker cradle of the little princess on the back of a white donkey.

\- "He's not in her good graces anymore", chuckles Sir Leon to Arthur who looks at them amusedly.

The small party leaves the castle with baskets laden with food and damask blankets to head to the crooked old oak near the river where the Prince used to meet his friends to fish, hunt and watch the stars.

After the meal, while the Dolma dips her toes in the deliciously cool water, Gwaine takes care of the horses and Gaius explores the undergrowth in search of rare herbs.

Arthur and Merlin are sprawled under the thick foliage of the tree, golden flies of light flickering on their faces, but they do not nap.

The nurse left after setting the princess on the broad chest of her father. The little girl is now eight months. She is sitting proudly and her small bare feet wiggle enthusiastically. Her chubby hands are fiddling with the nose of her father and his chin, she tweets, trying to catch the dragonflies and insects fluttering around them.

Arthur holds her by the waist and tries to avoid losing an eye. He hears Merlin giggling somewhere close to his head and wonders if they look like a strange flag when you see them from the sky, him wearing a simple red shirt, Merlin a blue tunic and Albion a white lace dress.

The emerald grass gives off a smell of dark earth and freshness. The creek glistens in the sun seeping through the canopy of lush greenery. Above their heads, the leaves rustle in the breeze.

_\- "Call up your men, dilly dilly, send them to work" ..._

The deep voice of Arthur is a bit off-key, but the little princess seems to enjoy the song and claps, wriggling cheerfully.

\- "May I say something, sire?"

Arthur arches an eyebrow while gently pushing away the tiny fingers wanting to explore the inside of his nostrils.

\- "_Mer_lin. You _never_ wait for permission to say anything. So when you ask a question like this, it gives people the creeps."

Albion warbles and drools happily as her father makes her bounce up and down in his arms.

\- "Very well, then", says Merlin in a very serious tone, crossing his hands on his belly. "I think you should stick to the sword. Singing does not befit you."

Arthur needs a few seconds to get that he should feel insulted, then a wave of gratitude overwhelms him.

This is the first time since Daobeth that his manservant is teasing him.

\- "_Mer_lin."

\- "Yes, sire?"

\- "One of these days, I'll have you juggle before the entire Court. We'll count the number of eggs you'll break. I'm sure there will be enough to scramble a hearty breakfast."

Merlin chortles.

\- "Still it'll be more pleasant for those who will attend it than a recital performed by you, Sire."

Albion fidgets, wanting to be put down and Arthur chooses to focus on her rather than keeping up with the friendly banter. Once on the grass, the little girl crawls to Merlin, grabs handfuls of black locks and chirps uninterruptedly until she sees her nurse coming back.

The Dolma bends down and picks up the child lifting her arms towards her. She steps away in the woods to breast-feed the baby. Gaius comes back and settles under the oak tree. He soon dozes off, his hoary head dropping on his chest. Gwaine goes to the river to fill up his wineskin, whistling as he keeps an eye on the surroundings.

Everything is peaceful and in harmony with the distant melody of the running water.

\- "Are you there, Merlin?" the king asks almost in a whisper, without turning his head.

\- "I'm here, Arthur", answers his manservant, staring at the blue sky reflected in his orbs.

Silence itself holds its breath.

\- "Will you always be here?"

\- "I will never leave you, sire."

Arthur nods.

He does not know that Merlin is looking at him.

That night, on the parchment the king opens in his eerily empty and cold chambers after the hot July day, there is a list of ridiculous and glorious reasons to stay with him.

_Among others, for his mouse teeth and his inability to pick up flowers properly._

Arthur chuckles and weeps at once, and he drinks to his dead wife, to memories, to the past that should no longer hinder him, but must become a reason to move forward.

* * *

oOoOoOo

* * *

Late in August, Gaius deems Merlin fine enough to go back to work.

On the eve of his manservant's return, Arthur writes to him for the last time and realizes it is the one hundred and first letter that went back and forth between them.

He ponders for so long the candle is almost consumed when he finally decides what he is going to write, and Merlin is already fast asleep when he slips into the court physician's chambers.

He silently greets Gaius, sits on the stool as it is his habit and remains silent for a moment, watching the so young face. Then he puts down the letter on the nightstand and leaves.

The moon glints on the Pendragon wax seal.

There are only four words inside the neatly folded sheet of parchment.

* * *

_"Please forgive me, Merlin."_

* * *

The next day, when Arthur opens his eyes, blinking because the sun floods the room through the pulled curtains, he sees Merlin who is tilting his head to the side, grinning.

The young man is squatting next to the bed, his elbows on the mattress, his chin in his hands.

\- "I brought you a gift", he whispers, cobalt orbs bright from anticipation.

The king yawns, looking around… and sure enough, there is a white _kitten_ squirming sheepishly on the scarlet quilt.

Arthur chuckles and frowns at the same time and he knows he's been wholly – _utterly_ \- forgiven.

Merlin gets up with the help of the bedpost and reaches out to the king to pull him out of his blankets. Then he limps up to the wardrobe to choose the clothes, listing in his usual chipper tone what the king will have to do in the day. Arthur follows him, adapting his pace to the slower and more hesitant steps of his gangly manservant, and plays his part in the gentle banter.

Everything is as before and everything is different.

* * *

oOoOoOo

* * *

The clouds whizz in the big blue sky of autumn, the sun shimmers on the golden crimson of the leaves, the rain goes and comes back, then gives way to fluffy snowflakes.

The crippled cat has become a dreaded rat hunter and lodges in the third cellar where George smuggles her ham rinds.

Rodor's nephew ascended the throne after the death of the King of Nemeth and renewed the alliances with Camelot.

In January, Albion takes her first steps, letting go of Merlin's hands to waddle to Arthur's arms, cheered on by Guinevere and the Dolma.

The king is no longer the last fan of the little girl's development. His days are packed with meetings, audiences, public hearings and reports to read, but he never fails to attend training at dawn and always makes time in his busy schedule to be with the child for at least an hour.

In June, Geoffrey of Monmouth retires from the Council to devote himself to the writing of the kingdom's history and Arthur finds himself overwhelmed by the paperwork that was managed by him. He begins to spend endless hours in his chambers, which worries Merlin a lot.

Gaius has an idea of the solution to this problem, but says nothing and simply sends Guinevere to bring a tonic to the king while Merlin is busy polishing his master's armor in the courtyard where Percival and Derian are having a contest of arm wrestling in a big crowd of laughing knights.

Carrying her knitting basket, the young woman knocks on the door of the royal chambers and slips inside after hearing a grunt.

Arthur lifts his eyes shortly.

\- "Ah, Guinevere. Good timing. Are you going to the nursery? Wait for me, I'll go there with you. I want to ask something to the Dolma."

She nods and sits on a chair.

After half an hour, she figures he has forgotten all about her and takes out her knitting, amused.

The quiet clacking of the needles mingles with the grating of the quill on the parchment in the comfortable, peaceful, simple silence.

The young woman raises her chin from time to time, glancing toward the table where the King works. The tawny sun of late afternoon haloes him in a golden mist and, for a moment, the scene blurs.

Leaning over the desk, she sees Lancelot, like when he filled his reports at the time, in the room in the West Wing that was their home.

Then her vision clears and Guinevere shakes her head fondly.

_They are so different, even though their love for their country is the same._

Lancelot would sit very straight, evenly wreathing his long regular writing on the parchment, salting occasionally with a measured gesture. She would suddenly feel his beautiful black eyes resting on her with love and they would share a smile, saying nothing, because they understood each other without words.

As for Arthur, he scribbles furiously. Then he stops, ruffles his blond hair considering the blots of ink. Sighs, crumples a ball of paper, throws it away, frowning. Starts to write again and bites his lips, his quill in mid-air, racking his brain for the correct phrasing.

He would clearly be more at ease and happier on the training ground, a sword in his hand instead of a quill.

Guinevere chuckles quietly.

\- "Is there anything I can do to help, sire?"

He hesitates, opens his mouth, then closes it. Scratches his neck in embarrassment.

\- "Uh ... yes. If ... if you can."

_Oh yes, she can._

_Lancelot used to read his reports to her and explain why he wrote this or that, and she was eager to learn._

She leaves the knitting on her seat and comes to the table in a rustle of her silk dress, bends over the draft.

The sun frills her long curly hair as she speaks, pointing at the mistakes on the parchment, and Arthur nods approvingly.

_Everything suddenly makes much more sense._

_Just like when he had just been crowned and Lancelot leaned over his shoulder to reread the treaties._

It takes the king only a few weeks to figure out the young woman will be much more useful to the kingdom than the boring scribe who had been recruited and that her fresh ideas and down-to-earth logic will help bring comfort and peace to the subjects of Camelot more than the hollow and pompous speeches of his advisors.

From then, he assigns a seat to Guinevere at the Round Table, to the chagrin of the Council and the greatest pride of Merlin.

Gaius smirks, folding his bushy eyebrow. He is getting old, sits by the fireplace and keeps his feet warm under a blanket, drinking herbal tea in small sips and claiming it is time for him to retire too.

The physician who helps Gaius and will eventually takes over after him has his chambers in the east wing and often complains that it does not occur to the knights to come to him when they are injured in training or during a skirmish with bandits.

Number Four - whom more and more people call Derian now – accompanies Merlin to the woods when he goes to fetch herbs and sometimes has to carry him on the way back, when the young man reluctantly admits his leg hurts. The former White Shadow's sturdy strides do not slow down under the feather weight of the crippled body and his black eyes sparkle with life while listening to the songs and the naïve yet full of good sense chatting of his young friend.

Gwaine resumed giving Merlin fencing lessons and Sir Leon monitors this closely. It is also them who show him how to shave when a dark stubble is finally starting to grow on his chin - Arthur finds highly ridiculous that two _bearded_ men teach his almost hairless servant how to handle the blade.

Dead leaves whirl in the wind again and Samhain is at the doorstep with its procession of pumpkins and memories. Winter follows and hems the roofs with small crystal beads, brushing frost drawings on the windows glass.

Percival has carved a small wooden cart in which you can load a couple apples and little Albion, dressed in red and white fur like a leprechaun, pulls it with a string. Merlin's cats chase after her when she toddles around and it makes her burst in giggles.

She has a lot of character and her favorite word is the same as all children of her age: "no." Arthur believes she copies his manservant, but the Dolma is not fooled. The nurse is probably the only one who understands the child's gibberish, but Merlin and Guinevere are convinced they do not need translation.

The King never tires of hearing the two syllables that are clear enough to avoid triggering controversy.

_"Pa-pa."_

That summer, the Camelot stonemasons begin the construction of a huge dragon-shaped horn, which will resound throughout the whole country if they are attacked. Arthur also plans on digging under the castle to make room enough for all the population of the surrounding lands to gather in a safe place in case of war threat or siege.

On the third birthday of the princess, the king gives her a pony and spends the next winter to teach her to ride in the courtyard carpeted with a thick layer of snow. The sunbeams play in their blonde hair, sparkling on the silver buckles of their blue cloaks, and everyone agrees that they have the same pout.

When spring is back, gifts come flocking from everywhere and marriage proposals for father and daughter arrive like swarms of flies. Arthur ignores them all, despite the pressure from his advisors.

There is no way he will betrothed his only heiress ten or twenty years in advance with princes he hardly knows – even if it is the right thing to do – and he has not forgotten Mithian. Besides, Albion is at the age of questions. She plays a lot with Sir Leon's girls and does not understand why they have a _mummy_ and she does not.

Merlin tries to explain to her that her mother is gone with Freya on a boat to Avalon, but she enquires why they have not yet come back from their journey.

Arthur takes her to the garden of roses and tells her stories about Mithian. The child loves them: the tales of the beautiful and sweet queen are of dream material.

But at the end of the day, when she snuggles in the arms of the Dolma before going to bed, the sleepy little girl sometimes asks if Guinevere could become her mummy.

* * *

oOoOoOo

* * *

For the thirty-second birthday of the King, Camelot is tinseled with hundreds of flowers which perfume every street corner. Flags and colorful banners are hanged at the windows, lanterns and songs fill the lower town. The nobles dress in bedecked clothing, the peasants braid daisies in their hair, the tiles shine, the kitchens abound with delicious aromas, and laughter is hatching everywhere, mingled with the melody of drums and viols.

The wine flows freely and Gwaine is flirting all over the place, running a careless hand through his wavy brown hair, flashing his charming smile to everything that wears a skirt.

Long tables have been brought to the courtyard, covered with white tablecloths and an abundance of food, and the servants circle around them, passing through the ribbons of dancers intertwining joyfully.

The king is sitting on a chair with a high backrest and claps along the music, laughing at the merriment of his people.

Gaius watches him fondly, while chatting with the Dolma whose foot taps the rhythm under her long black dress until Number Four comes to invite her. The ugly face of the nurse glows radiantly and she lets the man lead her to the dance, leaving the old doctor to sip his wine alone.

Percival beams, red and happy, giving his arm to a blonde damsel so small that if you blink you see a clothespin clipped on an oak branch.

Sir Leon does not dare to dance with his wife who is pregnant again – let's hope it's a boy, this time - and just praises the clumsy steps of their two daughters.

Guinevere, tiny yellow flowers pinned in her long curly dark hair, approaches the king and leans to be heard.

\- "Have you seen Merlin, sire?"

\- "Over there", says Arthur with a chin gesture. "Courting the princess as usual. Gwaine has a very bad influence on him! And to think that Camelot Knights' reputation rests largely on the shoulders of this tavern pillar..."

Somebody passes by them and shoves accidentally the young woman who catches herself on the armrest of the chair just in time to avoid falling. Her long loose sleeves skim the king's knee, her chin brushes the light golden crown on his forehead. She quickly straightens up, glances in annoyance behind her, then bows apologetically.

\- "I'm sorry, Sire."

\- "There's no harm", Arthur answers, shooting an exasperated glance at Gwaine who is not far behind and caused the accident in response to the usual teasing.

Guinevere smoothes a crease down the front of her gown embroidered with bees and waves back at the little princess hopping in the round with Merlin.

\- "They're so adorable ..." she coos.

Arthur nods, propping his chin on his fist, putting his elbow on the armrest.

The lanky manservant hobbles along the music, cobalt orbs matching his tunic and bright with glee under the mop of black hair, his large ears and angular cheekbones taking off ten years from the twenty-eight winters he celebrated a few months earlier. He is holding the hand of the almost four years old princess who is spinning in a swirl of innocent chortles. Her blue percale dress twirls around her and the torchlight haloes the sandy cotton curls fluttering around her chubby little face, twinkling in her amber eyes.

\- "Won't you dance with her?" asks Guinevere who is melting at the cuteness of the scene.

The king chuckles.

\- "I fear her partner wouldn't let me take over."

He does not add that he hopes the two will tire at the same time and that Merlin won't have to overdo it with his crippled leg.

He looks up and his lips twitch amusingly as he watches the young woman is jiggling in tempo unconsciously.

\- "Guinevere?"

\- "Yes, sire?" she says absently.

He stands up and holds out his hand.

\- "Come."

She hesitates, casts a glance around her, twisting the folds of her dress. Arthur leans towards her.

\- "It's all right to laugh", he whispers. "It was you who taught me that."

She blinks to hold in the tears welling up in her eyes and smiles back at the king.

\- "Thank you", she says, curtsying.

They joined in the round and the people do not slow down, grinning at the king they love because he is never afraid to share simple joys with them.

Guinevere is a bit stiff at first, then she starts to smile, cocking her head, carried away by the dance, losing her hazel eyes in the sapphires depths. Their fingers brush, he laughs as he gets the steps wrong, she scolds him, giddy with the lightness of the moment.

_There have known each other for so long, they have been friends for years, they have always supported and protected each other._

Merlin and Albion watch them, holding hands. The little girl admires the silk dress billowing gracefully and the young man scratches his neck, a little intrigued.

When the music stops, Albion sneaks in between the dancers and runs to the young woman who scoops her up.

Arthur contemplates Guinevere who is smiling lovingly at the little girl, nuzzling her chestnut satin skin against the porcelain cheek of the giggling princess.

And suddenly he knows, with certainty, what he must do.

So the next day, when Guinevere comes to his room with the day's paperwork, he makes her sit and explains what conclusion came to his mind.

She ponders for a long time, talks with Gaius and Dolma, and even with Geoffrey of Monmouth who curiously seems immediately convinced the decision is well-founded.

In autumn, she gives her answer to the king and during the festivities of Yule at the end of the year, in the snowy castle adorned with holly wreaths and mistletoe garlands, dressed in a golden gown shimmering in the candlelight, she marries Arthur and becomes Queen of Camelot.

When she sits on the throne and the cheers resound, Albion tiptoes to her with a bouquet of white roses picked from the gardens on the terrace and bows intently. Then she climbs on Guinevere's lap and puts a big kiss on her cheek.

\- "I love you, Mummy", she pips.

The young woman breathes in the roses' perfume and smiles back through her tears, hugging the little girl dressed in crimson velvet who is the emblem of their dreams.

On the wedding night, when they find themselves alone in the royal chambers, Arthur and Guinevere both close their eyes and whisper "I'm sorry."

Then their lips seal their alliance.

It will take time for their friendship made of trust and respect to turn into a deep love, as days and years go by, but they are quick to see how effective they are when they work together on equal terms.

_Arthur is strength, Guinevere is wisdom. He has the boldness of royalty, she knows how it feels to be the humblest. He is not afraid of stepping forward and she knows how to manage the consequences._

_No one can stop them._

The advisors grumbled, some have resigned and a few realms sent letters to complain about this unsuitable union, but all in all Camelot approves of the king's choice.

_Merlin has no idea the way he is, and lives, leads most of the royal couple's decisions._

Percival gets married, Sir Leon becomes the father of a third girl and Albion grows up.

Two years pass.

Two long winters spent by the hearth in which burns a large and warm fire, listening to the Dolma theatrically telling fairy tales and legends, while Gaius is dozing in the rocking chair. Snowballs fights with the knights and playing hide and seek in the royal library. Drinking spicy mulled wine in the kitchen until her cheeks flush bright and crunching on crispy honey cakes.

Two summers spent catching frogs with Sir Leon when it's full moon, riding on the roads of Camelot, napping in the fields with Gwaine and waking up with your hair full of hay stalks. Star gazing with Percival and flipping coins in dark, cool wells to make wishes. Hanging cherries on your ears and smuggling locusts and grasshoppers in the council room through the ajar door, risking being discovered by the King.

Two springs spent learning sewing and embroidery with Guinevere in the sunny room while Merlin polishes the armor of Arthur. Searching for medicinal herbs with Derian in the woods that are rustling with insects and dipping the tip of her nose in flowers overflowing with sweet pollen. Practicing to spar during training with a small blunt dagger and going to the hundred-year-old oak tree with Father to attend the audiences.

Two autumns spent picking mushrooms with Georges, making bouquets of leaves in orange shades, wading in puddles, starting to learn how to read with Geoffrey of Monmouth, going with Mother to meet the poor in the lower town and discovering that life is not the same for everyone. Lighting candles throughout the whole castle for Samhain and putting on a black dress for the night of the festivities, squeezing strong the hands of her parents during the toast to those who left us.

Then, the year of Albion's sixth birthday, Arthur takes a big decision.

The kingdom has been at peace for a long time and each new treaty strengthens the alliances.

Odin himself will eventually have to face the facts.

And to show that he is willing to lead the way to reconciliation, the king sends emissaries to the _Great Seas of Meredor_, to the castle of his uncle Agravaine.

They carry a letter forgiving Morgana and offering her to come back to live in Camelot.

* * *

_**TBC**_


	30. Familiar Strangers

** FAMILIAR STRANGERS**

* * *

When the first daffodils open their yellow petals like fireflies over the dark earth, a carriage heads towards Camelot across the plain, whilst the servants ventilate the guest rooms and hang fine tapestries on the stone walls. Albion collects flowers with Merlin and sets bouquets on the dressing tables, chirping happily at the idea of meeting her aunt that she has never seen.

The manservant is strangely silent. He overheard yesterday an argument between Arthur and Guinevere and if he did not understand why the King was so irate, he heard enough to know that this is because of something the Queen kept secret in hoping to avoid her husband to be hurt.

The bugles announce the guests are in sight and everyone gathers in the courtyard.

On top of the wide white stairs, Guinevere in a long rosewood gown, a tiara pinning back her muslin veil, keeps her eyes lowered next to Arthur. The king has donned his armor and ceremonial cloak, and his blue eyes are stormy, his brow furrowed and his lips pursed like when anger is bubbling inside him. Albion stands between them, her sandy blond hair neatly braided, quivering with excitement. She wears a tulip pink dress matching the brightness of her cheeks and the bud of her mouth, with pearl gray puffed slashed sleeves, as it is fashionable at the moment.

Merlin and the Knights are standing on the steps, nervously awaiting the arrival of Morgana whom they remember the departure, in a miserable cart.

_Will the girl who swayed with an air of madness, sobbing and muttering curses through a bushy mane of black hair, be again the princess who grew up with Arthur, with dreams of adventure filling her eyes?_

The carriage enters the courtyard in a clatter and iron-rimmed wheels.

Arthur straightens up, inhaling deeply and tries to plaster a smile on his face. No one knows why some days before the return of his sister he suddenly lost his enthusiasm and no one dreads more this confrontation than Merlin who remembers perfectly the look of accusation he saw just before tumbling down the stairs and losing consciousness.

There are only two places the young man avoids at all costs in the castle: the office of the Steward where he faced Morgause and found out Morgana had betrayed them all, and the hallway on the floor below the nursery, which very thought makes him sick.

Some memories should never be stirred.

The fact that Arthur - who promised this return would be an opportunity to reconcile and to start over - became suddenly so grim is not to reassure him and the manservant keeps throwing glances toward his master who stares at the carriage.

A footman opens the door and puts a small footboard on the floor.

The first to come out is a man about fifty, dressed in a carob leather breastplate, with black hair slicked back and regular eyebrows. He holds his head in a regal way. He has a pear jawline, a snub nose, barely graying short side whiskers and expressive dark eyes. The corners of his thin lips curl with a sort of irony, as he flaps his brown cloak over his shoulder.

\- "Welcome to Camelot, Uncle", greets Arthur.

\- "We are honored by your invitation, Your Majesty", answers Lord Agravaine, bowing briefly, before turning to the carriage to offer his hand to the person who is coming out.

The king holds his breath, Albion opens a o-shaped mouth, Guinevere raises her moist eyes.

An emerald velvet train glides over the cobblestones, the spring light caresses the alabaster complexion of the triangular face and bare shoulders. Long raven ringlets cascade loosely to the golden girdle on the hips and Morgana's quartz eyes look at them under the wings of her eyelashes.

Ten years later, the daring pretty princess has become an alluring lady who gives off an icy vibe.

She smiles and curtsies, lifting up her delicate chin.

\- "Brother."

\- "Morgana", Arthur gasps, overwhelmed by a whirlwind of conflicting emotions and heartbreaking memories.

Albion looks alternatively at both her petrified parents, not understanding, then steps forward.

Guinevere holds her back, putting a hand on her shoulder.

\- "Oh", gapes Merlin, his eyes on the carriage.

The Knights follow his gaze and freeze.

Morgana's red-painted lips fold into a smirk that fails to hide a mixture of pain and pride.

Albion tilts her head to the side, surprised.

\- "Who is this?" she asks, pointing to the nine or ten years old boy who just jumped to the ground and is now standing next to the young woman.

Under his black bangs, two eerie blue eyes set like jewels in a very pale skinned face defy the court.

\- "This is my son, Mordred", Morgana says in a very calm voice.

A murmur runs through the nobles gathered behind the knights who look troubled despite their efforts to remain stoic.

Arthur barely blinks and suddenly Merlin understands why he had an argument with Guinevere.

The queen must have told him. She must have known there was a child, she probably saw him when she went to spend three months at the castle near the sea after Lancelot's death.

In the doorway, behind everyone, Gaius closes his eyes.

He knows. He is the only one the king told and he suffers almost as much as the young ruler.

It's one thing to let Morgana come back to Camelot, but how to face the bastard she brings? Shame is on the Pendragon's family and the old man weeps inwardly on what has become of the young woman he loved like his own daughter.

The child has no father. A charismatic tramp, a smooth talker practicing witchcraft has seduced the exiled princess and caused this misfortune, so said Lord Agravaine. The man was called Alvarr and Arthur's uncle had him executed for smuggling and stirring crowds, before he even found out Morgana was secretly meeting the fellow on the beach.

Guinevere begged her husband to try picturing the loneliness of his sister, what she could have felt encountering someone who seemed to understand her, the credulity and vulnerability of the girl, her horror when she was told of Alvarr's death, but the king only picked out one thing: all these years, Guinevere _knew_ and she said _nothing_.

The queen refuses to apologize for it. During the three months she spent on the shores of Meredor, she failed to revive her bond with Morgana who was like a younger sister to her, to bring back to life their friendship and the complicity shared for years growing together, to touch the heart of the woman lost in bitter memories. She felt useless and empty. But she saw the fierce love Morgana had for her son and she resolved to protect them, to keep their secret.

And when the king told her of his decision, aghast, she told him, hoping for his compassion.

She was not wrong to do so. While he does not approve of any of this, he does not hold a grudge against Morgana. However, he struggles to get over the idea the truth was hidden from him for all these years ...

\- "Arthur?"

\- "Father?"

\- "My nephew?"

\- "Sire?"

The voices bring him back to the present time and he focuses to smile. He leans over Albion and gestures to Mordred whose glance is strangely impassive for such a young child.

\- "This is your cousin", 'he explains. "He doesn't know the castle, so I'm counting on you to play with him and be kind to him."

A soft breath puffs through Morgana's glossy lips, as if for a moment she had been expecting her brother's ire.

\- "Very well, Father", says the little blond girl, grinning at the boy with a missing canine in the bottom row of her tiny white teeth.

She runs to him and takes his hand to lead him inside the castle, brushing passed Morgana who looks at her avidly.

\- "Are you all right, my lady?" Lord Agravaine whispers, grabbing the elbow of his niece who is trembling.

\- "She looks like her ..." mumbles the young woman. "Morgause ..."

The black leather glove tightens his grip on the young woman's forearm, hard enough to make her stifle a wince.

\- "Remember your promise to behave well", he hisses in her ear before addressing a smile to Arthur who is approaching, escorting Guinevere.

The exchange lasted only for a few seconds and the only thing people saw was a display of gentleness.

\- "My nephew. Again it is a pleasure to see you."

The King nods.

\- "You are very welcome in Camelot", he repeats, strongly clasping wrists with his uncle.

Guinevere greets the man who marks a moment of pause, his dark eyes gauging the Queen, before diving into a respectful curtsy.

\- "Your Majesty."

\- "Lord Agravaine", she replies, struggling not to look down under the clearly disapproving look hidden behind the deployment of excellent manners.

Morgana regained control of her fleeting emotion and straightened up. She glares at her former maid, cocking her head.

The corners of her crimson mouth twitch with disdain.

\- "Guinevere."

\- "My Lady.

Arthur frowns, but says nothing, still upset with the queen and still reeling from the wave of nostalgia at seeing his sister after all these years.

He wants to kiss her forehead and at the same time loathes the idea.

He feels queasy, angry, on the verge of crying and very happy - completely lost.

And it is only after several weeks that he finds back the feeling of peace he had felt the day he decided to forgive his sister and let her come back.

Lord Agravaine has a lot on influence in restoring the balance. His uncle is an intelligent and refined man, but who knows to stay discreet and humble. Arthur enjoys the conversations he has with him, the valuable suggestions given during the councils and especially the attentive care that Agravaine displays towards Morgana.

It must not have been easy for his uncle to discover that the niece he had in custody had fallen pregnant out of wedlock and he has shown great kindness in accepting the child.

Obviously, Morgana would not have survived being separated from Mordred. With the passing days, Arthur understands the mental health of his sister remains fragile, as if only a glass wall stood in her mind between the young girl he once knew and this insane woman with perfect etiquette whose eyes are so cold, and who only seems alive when her son is around.

He eventually reconciles with Guinevere, much to the relief of Albion who already has too much on her plate and does not need to also have to worry about her parents' fights.

Starting with Mordred who is - by far - the most bizarre boy she's ever met.

It does not help that he is three years older than her and that he almost never speaks.

Besides, it has not really started off on the _right foot_.

\- "He walks like a pigeon missing a leg", Mordred suddenly commented aloud, after she had vainly tried to ask him a bunch of questions, while Merlin was leading them to the Nursery.

The manservant's back stiffened a little, but he said nothing. Albion was furious someone had dared hurt his feelings and put her hands on her hips, standing on tiptoe to be at eyes level with the rude-guest-cousin.

\- "That's because he's the bravest man in the whole kingdom", she stated firmly.

Merlin stopped to wait for them, but did not intervene, watching the little girl fondly.

\- "Pff. I never heard anything so ridiculous", dropped Mordred. "What, the brave are supposed to _limp_ to show their value, now?"

She fiercely locked her amber eyes with the piercing blue orbs.

\- "No", she scolded. "But Father said a hero's worth shines through his scars."

\- "Tch."

The Dolma came out into the hallway to greet them and the discussion was halted before taking an even worse turn when the boy stared at the nurse and asked Albion if this woman was the winner of a contest of hags.

The Dolma almost had a stroke and Merlin hurried to take the children to the other end of the castle.

After that, nothing went well, despite Albion's efforts to obey the king, day after day.

When she introduced the fat white cat she carries everywhere, holding it under the armpits - _the poor creature lets her do so placidly_ \- Mordred clamped a hand over his mouth and waved her away.

\- "Cats make me sneeze. Put it back where you found it."

\- "He's not "it", he's called Sir Pellinore", corrected Albion, irked. "And you're not funny."

He broke Percival's little cart trying to sit in it, but fortunately the knight promised he could fix it, when she brought the crushed toy him, in tears.

He said dolls were boring and called her a baby when he found out she still slept with her teddy bear.

Guinevere suggested she should go horse riding with her cousin, saying that boys do not like kitties and dolls. Albion does not agree because Sir Elyan's son, who is the same age, never minds taking on the role of the father or the king when she and Sir Leon's three daughters play house.

Mordred acts arrogant and prattish with Tyr, the groom with chubby cheeks and a well-trimmed beard who is always available to saddle the princess' pony.

Despite the protests of the plump little man, the boy insists on picking a mount that sure looks great but is not easy to handle and the inevitable happens. They have barely crossed the drawbridge when the sun sparkling on the metal ladles hanging on a stall scares the steed. The horse rears, a peasant woman narrowly avoids a hoof kick that would have killed her and Mordred is thrown off.

Arthur is not pleased and summons the two children, the groom and Merlin who accompanied them in the throne room. Albion quivers when her father admonishes them about the terrible accident they could have caused. She flushes in shame hearing the king chastise the two men for failing to make Mordred take another horse and bites her lips with resentment when her cousin comes out of it like a flower because Arthur believes his sprained wrist is punishment enough.

Guinevere listens to the little girl's grievances, stroking her hair, and renews her encouragement to be patient while the Dolma grumbles Mordred is just a brat.

Albion sides with her nurse's thought, but to please the queen, she keeps working at trying to understand her cousin. Peeping at him during family dinners in the Small Hall, she realizes he casts frequent glances to the king, as if he was dying to approach him.

She softens a bit at that.

She shows him where you can climb on the wall to get a perfect view on the training ground and for the first time since he arrived, Mordred smiles. When his wrist is healed, she suggests he should come to her fencing course with Gwaine and the king accepts after discussing it with Lord Agravaine.

Morgana never got a say in this, but she seems to find the idea excellent.

Unexpectedly, Gwaine quickly grows fond of the sullen yet determined boy who progresses with a sort of a fiery instinct, faster than Albion who appreciates fencing but is not as ardent. The bearded knight soon proposes to give extra lessons to Mordred, to let him join the trainings of the twelve years old squires and permission is granted.

To thank the king, Morgana offers to give singing lessons to Albion. Arthur, who had never seen it as crucial to his daughter's education so far - _Guinevere focuses on the development of the child's common sense, although she also teaches her the duties of a princess_ – accepts with pleasure, happy to see his sister getting involved in Camelot's daily life.

Lord Agravaine takes the opportunity to mention quickly, just like that, in a conversation, that _obviously_ there are limits to what a former _maidservant_ can bring to a royal heiress.

The king dismisses the remark with a simple frown: his uncle has only been here for a few months, he cannot possibly yet grasp all that Guinevere has done for the good of the kingdom.

The knights appreciate Lord Agravaine who does not hesitate to join in the patrols and who, without sharing the camaraderie binding them to the king, proves to be of good companionship.

Spring gives way to summer and as the days lengthen and fill with warmth and sun, the stone walls still keep shade and coolness inside the castle. Albion is glad to spend her afternoons in the pretty room of the Lady Morgana, doing vocals, while Merlin sweats in accompanying the king on horseback to watch over the crops and the filling of the granaries.

After the singing lesson, the young woman gets ready for dinner, sitting at her dressing table on which is arranged the gold ornate mirror on an easel and a thin ewer with a basin in which floats a large sponge. She smiles to grant permission to Albion whose eyes are silently asking if she can touch the powder boxes and the ointment jars.

The little girl fiddles with the puff, opens the vermeil and silver cabinets to admire the jewelry, carefully strokes her blond hair with the soft boar-bristle brush than puts it back on the marble surface.

Morgana applies cochineal dye on her well-defined lips and Albion watches her, gawping.

\- "You're so beautiful", she mumbles.

\- "Would you like to try?" Morgana offers, gently dipping the brush into the smooth red slush.

Albion says no, but her head gestures yes.

The young woman chuckles and lightly applies a touch of make-up on the lips of the child who looks at her in the mirror.

\- "Mother doesn't use powder", says Albion, articulating excessively to not smudge the red. "Father says she never needed makeup to turn heads and that he doesn't see why she should do so now."

Morgana snorts.

\- "Men do not know what they're talking about", she huffs, sliding her fingers in her long silky raven hair. "I did put make up on Guinevere, sometimes, when her lover spent a few days at Gaius'..."

She hesitates a moment, then adds softly:

\- "She's not your mother, you know it, isn't it? You two don't even look alike."

\- "I know", gravely says Albion. "My hair is not _curly_ like hers, it's _wavy_, like my mummy and Father. My mummy died when I was very very very small. That's why the Dolma takes care of me."

She tilts her head to the side and her amber eyes shine brightly.

\- "My mummy was very brave. It's not her fault she died. She lost her battle even though she fought to the end. It happens, sometimes."

Morgana looks about to say something, then changes her mind.

_Arthur has not told his daughter that she killed her mother coming into the world, although that was the truth. But Uther let Morgana believed for years that she had caused the death of Ygraine at birth, while the latter had actually committed suicide because of her husband's infidelity._

Sometimes in the feeble and tortured mind of the young woman, the two men merge. But today, they are quite distinct.

\- "Come, Morgause, let's go down to the Small Hall", she says, getting up and taking the hand the little girl gives her trustingly.

\- "Yes, my lady", obediently answers the child who does not understand why her aunt calls her like this when they are alone.

If she does still have a little trouble getting along with Mordred, however she loves her aunt whom she finds so sad and would like to see smiling. Guinevere encourages her to spend time with Morgana, even if she always softly refuses to go with her during the singing lesson.

Albion sees the furtive glances during the meals, how Morgana purses her lips when the servants first serve the queen before turning to the king's sister. She guessed that Guinevere and Morgana had been close, years before, but she cannot bring them together again, as if something unmovable was now between them.

She does not know that it is the crown that will one day be laid on her own head.

The clouds flee across the sky and the golden rays of the sun caress the green fields. The vines are loaded with juicy and voluptuous dark grapes. The granaries are filled with bags of flour and salted meat.

Arthur has a little more time and spends it with Mordred on the training ground. The boy beams with pride at the idea of showing him how he fares well now. The king quickly disarms him, but praises him and ruffles his hair before leaving the lawn, not seeing that the affectionate gesture froze the boy.

Lord Agravaine knits his eyebrows as he watches that with his arms folded. He follows the king after one last unreadable glance behind.

Mordred takes some time to realize that Gwaine is talking to him and shrugs off the half worried half mocking question of the fencing master.

He is a proud, untamable loner. He has learned long ago to harden against jeers such as the ones pouring on him when he trains with the squires - "hey, bastard, your mother wallowed pretty well in the common mud for a king's daughter"- but he did not expect the wave of emotion that overwhelmed him feeling that paternal pat on his young head.

Suddenly he _knows_ why he fails to be nice to Albion whom he actually finds cute and kind.

He has no clue that Merlin and many others have long guessed what he hides under his cold and arrogant behavior.

He eventually grew fond of the lanky manservant, though he knows he better avoids mentioning him in front of his mother who loathes him for some unknown reason, and sometimes go riding with his cousin throughout the kingdom, allowing himself a wry smile from time to time upon the naive chatter of Merlin and the little girl. He fears Number Four who seems to be able to see to the depths of his soul, but enjoys the simple and unrefined friendship of Percival. Sir Leon makes him ill-at-ease: the knight seems to have not forgiven him for ruining his daughters' games; and he avoids Gaius and the Dolma much as possible. He finds the physician smelling of _old_ and the nurse does not hide that she distrusts him.

His favorite remains Gwaine and he also made a friend in the person of William, one of the squires, a rebellious impetuous boy of fifteen whose modest origins keep separate from the group.

At the end of the stifling hot summer, heavy thunderstorms erupt every day. The sky swells with purple and black clouds and white flashes fuse through the castle. The thunder rolls terrifyingly and big warm drops crash on the cobblestones of the courtyard.

Albion is looking for her cat, Sir Pellinore, unaware that everybody is looking for _her_. The grumpy fat cat has again snacked on a pie in the kitchens and Cook, exasperated, showered him with dirty water and vegetable peelings. With an angry meow, the cat ran away, hugging the walls, his paunchy belly razing the floor.

She finally finds it on the floor that Merlin always avoids, even if he has to make a huge detour, and crouches to pick up the big cat. When she gets up, a gust of winds bursts through an open window and put out the torches. Plunged in darkness, with the hard drumming of rain and the wooden shutters slamming, the little girl lets out a cry of terror.

Sir Pellinore, crushed against her, struggles free again.

Albion calls him back in a shaky voice, but the cat ignores her and quickly trots away. She clenches her fists, squints to see in the hallway that scares so much her best friend and stomps, angry and frightened, because the cat is not listening to her. Behind her, the stairs are not lit either.

She swallows her tears, determined to be as brave as the adults she loves, worthy of her princess title.

\- "Sir Pellinore! Come back at once!" she orders, stuttering a bit.

The white cat has disappeared, but in the sudden flash that dazzles her, she sees a dark figure standing in the hallway.

_A monster.__ A ghost. Whatever Merlin hides from is in the hallway, close, lurking in the shadows, ready to jump on her._

The thunder booms, loud and mighty, and she drops to the floor, clamping her hands on her ears, squeezing her eyelids.

Someone touches her shoulder and she shrieks, throwing herself back.

\- "Albion?"

Two eerie blue irises in the pale glow of this stormy night meet her amber orbs dilated with fear and tears well up in her eyes.

\- "It's me, Mordred. Don't be afraid."

He helps her up and leads her away, not making fun of her sniffles and her gasps at each new thunderclap, letting her cling to his arm. He takes her to the nursery and leaves her in front of the door.

Albion grabs his sleeve as he spins on his heels.

\- "Thank you", she whispers.

He shrugs with a small smirk.

\- "It's nothing."

\- "What ... why ... Why were you there?"

He frowns, not understanding.

\- "On _this_ floor", presses the little girl as if it meant everything.

Mordred still does not get it and nibbles his lower lip.

\- "This is where Lord Agravaine's chambers are", he ventures, looking at her like she was dumb. "I came to get my mother."

\- "Oh", says Albion with surprise. "I didn't know people were living there."

\- "I was told there were the best rooms of the castle", retorts Mordred. "It's obvious your father would give them to such an important guest."

For the first time, Albion notes the bitter tone barely audible in the voice of her cousin, but she does not push the issue, lets go of his sleeve and curtsies gratefully.

\- "Yes, silly me", she laughs shakily. "Good night, Mordred."

\- "Good night, princess", answers the boy, and off he goes, not looking back.

The Dolma scolds Albion for having disappeared because of a stupid cat, Guinevere comes to kiss her goodnight when she is tucked in bed and Arthur brings back Sir Pellinore who had taken refuge in the royal chambers: apparently the cat knows where his mistress goes during thunderstorms.

Merlin spends the next day with the princess. The rain prevents Arthur from going to watch over the harvest, but he takes his manservant with him to inspect the cellars in the late afternoon.

Outside, the rain drops rattle intermittently on the stone body of the dragon-shaped horn.

Returning from her lesson with Geoffrey of Monmouth, Albion makes a detour to Morgana's chambers. The Knights went on patrol despite the weather, Guinevere is in the lower town with Gaius and Sir Leon's daughters have gone to the province with their mother to spend there the first weeks of autumn.

The king's sister opens up, a little surprised to see her as she has no singing lessons today, and smiles gently, letting her in the room. Albion perches on the four-poster bed and swings her legs.

\- "What were you doing?" she asks.

Morgan shows her the beautiful arabesques she draws on a parchment.

\- "It's a story", she explains.

\- "You write better than Father", comments the child.

\- "Arthur was never very good with a quill, he is far too rough for that", sneers the young woman.

Albion chooses to ignore the sarcastic tone.

\- "Will it be sung during a banquet, then?" she asks.

Morgan shakes her head.

\- "No, it's only to read aloud, slowly, when it's snowing outside, or under a tree in summer. To dream and escape from this life."

\- "Oh", breathes the little girl, her eyes rapt with wonder at the idea of a story that requires neither a party nor the goodwill of the Dolma. "Can I read it?

Morgana puts the parchment in one of the narrow drawers of her dressing-table.

\- "No", she says. "Not this story. But there is another one that I'd love to share with you."

She opens a chest and takes out a tattered book, bound with leather straps and sewn with loose red threads, then sits on the gray-green quilt of a bed, settling her black satin gown around her. Albion joins her immediately and grabs a big pillow on which she rests her chin.

\- "_My lords, if you would hear a high tale of love and of death, here is that of Tristan and Queen Isolde_"; begins Morgana in her pleasant deep voice. "_How to their full joy, but to their sorrow also, they loved each other, and how at last they died of that love together upon one day; she by him and he by her_."

Rivulets of rain drip on the window glass and the hours pass, enchanting.

Albion is fascinated by the story, by the emotion in the voice of her aunt, by the magic of writing. The candlelight's gleam flickers in the pale eyes of the king's sister as the little girl discovers that the books Merlin loves do not only speak of things to learn but can be filled with dreams.

She does not know that novels are not considered healthy readings.

She shudders listening to the part when the flour is sprinkled on the floor, claps her hands when the dog recognizes Tristan, cries when the lie changes the color of the sail and when the indestructible briar grows on the grave.

\- "... _those who are cast down, and those in heart, those troubled and those filled with desire. May all herein find strength against inconstancy and despite and loss and pain and all the bitterness of loving_", Morgana concludes, closing the tattered book carefully.

She wipes a tear from the corner of her eye and offers a handkerchief to the little girl who noisily blows her nose.

\- "Did you like it?"

\- "Oh _yes_!" Albion exclaims.

Morgana chortles at her enthusiasm.

\- "Tristan is so brave and so crazy", giggles the little girl.

\- "Once, I met a man who was like him", murmurs Morgana almost involuntarily. "His eyes were filled with sparks and his curly hair smelled of salt and sea. He could have been a prince. He spoke and he fought like a prince. It was him who gave me this book."

\- "Where is he?" asks Albion.

\- "He's dead", answers Morgana quietly.

In the silence that follows, the little princess ponders very seriously. Then she crawls to her aunt and ties her arms around her neck with affection.

\- "You loved him a lot, isn't it?"

\- "Who?" shivers Morgana, snuggling into the embrace, forgetting that Albion is a child, breathing the scent so much alike to Guinevere's reassuring perfume, like at the time they were just young girls, almost sisters, sharing dreams and secrets.

\- "Mordred's daddy."

\- "Ah."

Another silence.

\- "No", Morgana finally answers, almost under her breath. "I loved Alvarr."

Albion does not understand, but she feels the delicate shoulders shaking with sobs, so she gently rocks her aunt, whispering words of comfort, like the Dolma does when her babe is hurt or scared.

When they are called for dinner - _they are terribly late and if the king only gives them a disapproving frown whilst Guinevere smiles tenderly, however Lord Agravaine clears his throat grimly and Mordred throws a reproachful glance at his mother_ \- Morgana whispers to Albion that the book telling the story of Tristan and Isolde must remain their secret absolutely.

The little girl has no opportunity to ask why because the next day when she goes to her aunt's chambers for her singing lesson, the alarm bell starts ringing wildly.

The guards gather in the courtyard and the servants mass behind the windows and under the arcades.

The king jogs down the wide stairs to Gwaine, wondering what is happening.

\- "A rider, Sire", replies the bearded knight anxiously. "He crossed the drawbridge without stopping to identify himself."

\- "Have we stopped him now? Why such haste? Who is he?"

\- "His horse fell dead only a few meters away", tells Gwaine. "They're bringing the man on a stretcher. Sire, he only said a few words before passing out, but ... I fear he brings terrible news."

Number Four and Perceval come into the courtyard at that moment, carrying a young man about twenty years old, blond, dressed in peasant clothes, his eyes shut and his cheeks hollow and pale.

Gaius makes him breathe the vapors of a potion that stenches and the stranger painfully regains consciousness.

Arthur kneels beside the stretcher.

\- "Who are you?" he asks. "Why did you come to Camelot? Speak without fear. I am King Arthur."

\- "I know ..." stammers the young man in a barely audible voice. "Sire ... you ... the kingdom ... misfortune ... an army ... I saw ... marching on Camelot ..."

A jug falls on the cobblestones and breaks loudly, startling the knights gathered around the stretcher.

Gwaine and Arthur turn in the same movement.

\- "Merlin?"

The manservant stands frozen, his hands still open, the shattered jug at his feet, water splashed on his breeches and tunic. His face is gasthly.

\- "Daegal ..." he chokes.

* * *

**_TBC_**

* * *

_**A/N : "Tristan &amp; Isolde" lines are from the translation of the original text written by Beroul.**_


	31. What you hold dearest

** WHAT YOU HOLD DEAREST**

* * *

The morning sun streams through the high windows of the Throne Hall, drawing rainbow ponds on the polished wooden floor.

Knights, advisors, nobles, they are all waiting for the king to speak. His hands clasped under his chin, he is frowning, lost in thought.

\- "How long until they're here?" he finally asks.

\- "They will reach the city within two days", Sir Leon answers. "If they're so close and yet we've had no reports from the outposts, it means our men are dead. If Daegal had not warned us ..."

Arthur nods.

\- "Under whose banner did you say they march?" he inquires.

\- "Odin, Sire. We knew he was amassing an army, but for it to be this big ... it must have taken years to..."

\- "How many men?" cuts in the king.

\- "Twenty thousand, maybe more", replies Percival. "Roughly estimated. The lad rode to notify us as soon as he realized what was happening when he saw them crossing at the ford of Stonedown."

\- "What was he doing _there_ when he's supposed to be banished beyond the borders of Cantia?" grouches Gwaine.

Arthur raises his hand and silence comes back immediately.

\- "We won't have the time to go face them", he concludes slowly. "Blow the horn. We have to protect the people first. Everyone from the outlying villages is to take shelter in Camelot. We must prepare the city for siege."

They feel cold, yet the heat of late summer is rising with the hours.

* * *

oOoOoOo

* * *

Across the country echoed the deep call of the stone dragon.

The castle is bustling with soldiers gathering crossbows, swords, mail coats, arrows, boots, sharpening tools. The servants formed a chain to get sacks of food and blankets to the caves.

The knights are building barricades in the streets of the Lower Town and oil buckets have been brought to both rings of ramparts.

Peasants dressed in brown hemp flock from all villages, pushing carts padded with straw on which lay the old and the sick. Women hold toddlers with runny noses in their arms, men are carrying bundles of clothes and baskets of vegetables hastily collected. Curly blond girls have loaded their aprons with wheels of hard cheese and black bread loafs; boys with smeared cheeks are pulling at the end of rope a goat or a cow, the most precious thing of the family owns.

But the guards sadly have to tell them to leave the livestock in the courtyard.

A toothless grandmother, her skin wrinkled like a ripe quince, her small gray bun tucked under a tattered but very clean scarf, does not want to put down a big white goose quacking angrily.

\- "She's my only m-comp-pany", pleads the woman in a croaking voice. "She's like m-my d-daughter ..."

Percival shakes his head, bending down to be at eyes level with her.

\- "That's the rule, I'm sorry", he explains gently. "Come on, old one. Leave the bird. It's your life that counts."

The nobles are in the same boat as the peasants, despite their fuss.

\- "Take only the bare necessities", reminds Sir Leon, pacing the corridors. "No, my lady, you can't take _two_ jewelry boxes."

\- "But looters, thieves ..."

\- "Lock your chambers", advises the knight, trying not to roll his eyes.

If the enemy does break through to the citadel, her jewelry will be the least of the lady's concerns.

On his way to the service quarters, he meets Arthur and Gwaine who are counting the growing number of refugees.

\- "They amount to almost nine thousand so far, but they're still coming."

\- "Hopefully, the caves will be big enough", the king mutters under his breath. "Odin?"

\- "Our scouts report the army will be upon us in a matter of hours", answers the bearded knight. "Sire, should we not have sent the signal?"

Arthur stops under the arcades to consider the courtyard buzzing with people and animals.

\- "It'd be a bloodbath if Mercia and Essetir got involved. Let's wait. When he'll see he can't bring Camelot defenses down, like many others who have tried before him, Odin might be willing to negotiate."

Gwaine runs his fingers in his wavy hair.

\- "The castle has not been besieged for almost twenty years. Maybe we won't hold that long ..."

Arthur glares at him and the knight shuts up.

\- "How about the hospital?" asks the king.

\- "Gaius and ... er, I can't remember his name, well, his replacement, are now setting up tables. The medical supplies are all stocked in the large vault and Sir Elyan said they've fixed the pipe for the water. We shouldn't run out. A tremendous invention, Sire."

\- "Elyan is a resourceful man. Are the Queen and the Princess already down there?"

\- "No, Sire. Last time I saw them, they were helping in the kitchen."

Arthur scoffs.

\- "Make sure they go down with Morgana and Mordred quickly. Lord Agravaine will soon be back from the outer walls, send him to me. And do spread the word, we _need_ to hurry. Sound the alarm bell if necessary. When the sun's behind the Library Tower, I want to see only the Camelot crest in the courtyard."

Gwaine salutes shortly, then leaves while Arthur calls out the Steward he just spotted down the hallway.

On the third floor of the main building, wearing a dress too warm for the weather - _the king said it would be cold in the caves_ \- the Dolma is packing a few things for the young princess. Albion barges into the room, her cheeks red from running, her blonde hair peppered with flour.

\- "Quick, Nanny", she cries. "Mother said I had to change and get my stuff down to the hiding place!"

The Dolma clicks her tongue disapprovingly.

\- "I _know_. I wa_a_s _waiting_ for you, me", she scolds.

The child is already getting rid of her shoes and pulling her dress over her head even though the laces are yet to be untied.

\- "Easy, little woods sprite", the woman protests, kneeling down to help her. "Here, your ear's stuck in your colla_a_r."

\- "Am I going to dress like a boy?" enquires the little girl excitedly. "Mother said she will because it's _convinent_."

\- "It might be more _convenient_ but it's definitely not _proper_ for a princess", grumbles the Dolma. "Yes, you will wear breeches, but don't you sta_a_rt believing it allows you to get dirty like a piglet with the village la_a_ds."

Albion giggles.

\- "I'd _neeever_ do _suuuch_ a thing", she retorts in a high-pitched voice, her hands flitting about, clearly imitating the nurse.

The woman gently tugs the child's nose.

\- "You leprechaun."

She helps the little girl to put on a soft woolen blue shirt and drapes over her shoulder a white fox fur on which she buckles a leather belt.

\- "Now you're ready. Keep tha_a_t beautiful smile on your lips, my rosebud. In these da_a_rk days ahead, you will be a ray of hope."

Albion lifts up her beautiful amber eyes.

\- "Father and the knights are stronger than the meanies that are coming, isn't it, Nanny?"

\- "Yes", declares the woman firmly. "Now, choose one of your toys and let's go down."

The little girl does not hesitate. She picks up on the bed the ragged teddy bear, then tiptoes to get the two small wooden dragons from the mantle of the fireplace.

\- "Tha_a_t makes it _three_", the Dolma states sternly.

Albion counters with her cutest pout.

\- "My dragon and the dragon of my little-brother-that-I-might-have-someday. Please, Nanny, I can't leave them there!"

\- "The other children did not receive preferential treatment", simply replies the woman.

Tears well up in Albion's eyes.

\- "But I already have to leave Sir Pellinore ..." she pleads. "Oh, Nanny… Please, pretty please... I will keep them in my pockets ... they won't take up any space ..."

The Dolma nibbles her lips.

\- "No", she finally says. "But I ha_a_ve an idea. You know the loosened tile under the Queen's wa_a_rdrobe, the one you discovered with Da_a_msel A_a_veline, the other day? Let's put them in the hole under the tile. Nobody will find them there."

The tears of the child dry up at once.

\- "Oooh ... like a treasure!"

No sooner said than done, and Guinevere admires the steadfastness and ingenuity of the nurse.

The young woman pinned back her long curly hair and put on the same kind of tunic the princess is wearing. She goes down to the vaults with the other two after getting from a dusty chest a sword in a leather sheath to the hilt of which is tied a lanyard with a silver alliance.

Arthur passes by them in the stairs and does not say a word as he recognizes the sword his wife used when she practiced fighting with Lancelot.

The air is hot and heavy. A storm will surely break out tonight.

The King gives some more instructions, then goes looking for his manservant so that he can don his armor. He finds him hauling enormous sacks in the Griffin Staircase and shakes his head, jogging down to him.

\- "_Mer_lin! Where have you been? I've been calling for you!"

The evening sun gives a red glow to the staircase and Arthur wonders how much time they have left before Odin's army surrounds Camelot.

\- "Gathering provisions", the young man explains cheerfully, wiping the sweat from his forehead, pointing at the sacks. "Twenty-five salted cod, fifteen dried capons – and one smoked boar."

\- "What on earth for?" gawps the king who doesn't know if he wants to laugh and to get angry.

\- "We're preparing for _a siege_", Merlin answers very seriously.

Arthur pinches the bridge of his nose.

\- "_Yes_, not a banquet."

His manservant pulls on his big ears with fatality.

\- "D'you know what you're like without food?" he mutters. "We could be trapped in here for weeks, months, even."

He grabs a jar left on a windowsill and shows it to the king with a large grin.

\- "Look what I've got for your breakfast. Your favourite, pickled eggs!"

Arthur rubs his neck in embarrassment.

\- "Merlin", he finally says, picking up one of the far too heavy sacks. "I said everyone could take what was most precious to them the caves, in addition to the strictly necessary items. What do you hold dearest in the world? This is what you should worry about, rather than trying to fatten me."

Merlin shakes his head, lifting up his blue eyes a bit puzzled.

\- "But it's you. What I hold dearest in the world, it's _you"_, he says genuinely.

Arthur bites his lips and finds nothing to answer.

He pats his manservant's shoulder, and signs to someone to take the provisions down to the caves. Then he drags away Merlin still holding the jar of pickled eggs.

\- "Come on, help me get ready for the battle."

The last sun of the day sprinkles golden dust in the silent room as Merlin dresses his master in armor.

In the distance, the bells are ringing slowly and then fall silent.

Arthur sheathes his sword and takes the wooden case on his nightstand before sharing a glance with his manservant who picked up the jar.

\- "It's time", he says in a low voice.

Down in the huge caves under the castle, peasants and nobles are blend together. Some are setting makeshift bunks, women are feeding their children distracted by the crowd, the knights are saying goodbye to their families. Everyone whispers, as if they fear speaking loud would make the enemy come faster. Gaius and his replacement are already wearing their brown over-robes and are eating before the night starts, for it will be a long one.

Arthur looks at his people with compassion. Old men with gnarled hands lined up on benches, a very pregnant mother stroking the hair of a four or five years old little girl with big dark eyes. A group of teenagers looking fierce who undoubtedly intend to come ask him to participate in the battle. These men he knows and values who are embracing their beloved before leaving to fight and maybe die on the city walls.

Percival kisses his wife then walks to the king. Gwaine quaffs down what is left in his wineskin then throws it carelessly on a table and marches to them with a roguish grin.

Sir Leon is already there, standing calmly in his long scarlet cloak.

Sir Elyan, Sir Kay and the others are grouped around him as well, imposing in their armors.

Arthur acknowledges the squires who are not allowed to fight tonight - among them is William, with his reckless eyes hidden behind his chestnut bangs, and Mordred, so young and too frail to be already wearing a chainmail coat.

Farmer, valet, groom, steward, cook, noble, scribe, maid, merchant, blacksmith, cloth shearer, physician, historian, even the occasional beggar, they all have their eyes on him and their faces reflect their trust in him.

Arthur nods in response.

_He is their__ servant, their protector, their king._

_He will defend__ Camelot with his life._

He raises his hand and in a silence that disturbs no sob, the warriors leave the caves to go to the city walls and behind the barricades of the lower town, where Number Four and hundreds of soldiers are already stationed.

\- "Father!"

\- "Arthur!"

He turns around and crouches just in time to scoop in his arms the little girl dashing to him.

\- "Be a good girl, Albion", he says, brushing a kiss on her forehead.

\- "I will, Sire", proudly says the child.

Guinevere approaches with a smile that tries to hide the worry in her hazel eyes.

\- "Don't forget to come back", she murmurs.

\- "Watch over them all", the king replies softly, before leaning to touch the lips of the queen.

He gives a final pat to the blond hair of his daughter and climbs the stairs, followed by his servant who waves at Guinevere and Albion.

Gaius is shaking his hoary head as he heavily sits down next to the Dolma.

Arthur assured him he would send Merlin back to the caves as soon as the battle would begin, but the old physician is still afraid his grandson might convince himself he must absolutely help and that he will stay where the danger is.

The Dolma is not listening to his ramblings, busy observing a scene that takes place in a dark corner of the cave.

Morgana watched the king's farewell to the queen and stiffened at first, a snide twitch on her carmine lips. Then something passed in her eyes, a rift, the shadow of a frightened crow flying off, regret, a crack in the glass. She glanced around her, trembling, anxious, and spotted Lord Agravaine whom she approached almost shyly. The man was busy tightening his vambraces and barely granted her a blink.

She took the straps, tied them herself, glided around him in her emerald gown, torchlight oiling the silky loose curls of her raven hair. He grasped her chin and forced her to look at him in the eye.

And when she suddenly lost countenance, her slender figure writhing to push him away, he let go of her with a snort and walked away.

Morgana remains standing in the same place, massaging her delicate jaw. Her quartz eyes are blazing, but one single tear runs along her porcelain cheek.

Mordred comes to her and when his eerie blue eyes cross those of the Dolma, the woman looks down, feeling uncomfortable.

Albion distracts her and the nurse pushes the strange scene at the back of her mind to focus on the child who has no clue about the gravity of the situation and thinks the whole preparation for siege is one big game.

Outside, under the darkening swelled skies, crackling with heat, the men squint to see what walks towards them beyond the woods, on the low hills.

The plain is slowly dotted by black ants bearing yellow banners.

And when night finally settles, tens of hundreds of torches suddenly light up in front of them and a shudder runs on the city walls at that sight.

_Odin's army is here._

Powerful, huge, with trebuchets and catapults, ballistas and belfries, thousands of spears and so many men they cannot count them.

Chilled to the bone, Merlin looks for Arthur's hand, but the blond man shrinks off. The servant bites his lower lip, his cheeks flushing at the idea of embarrassing the king with his cowardice. But Arthur takes off his glove slowly, and his hand grabs his friend's.

His palm is as clammy as Merlin's.

He does not look at him. His eyes stare at the enemy standing out of arrow range and his mouth curls in the pout he does involuntarily when he is extremely serious and sincere.

\- "Don't be afraid", he mutters.

\- "I'm not", Merlin whispers. "I have faith in you."

Arthur squeezes his hand one last time, then gives him a pat on the shoulder and pushes him towards the stairs.

\- "Go back to the caves, now."

\- "It has not begun yet", protests his manservant.

The king is about to snap back when a terrible clamor roars in front of them.

The soldiers of Odin are banging their maces against thousands of shields, in a deafening clatter of metal, and sparks are sizzling over the dark plain in the sweltering heat of the summer night.

The sound is slow, sinister and chanted in rhythm with the beating of their hearts. With each loud clang, the soldiers stamp the ground and the earth shakes, the air trembles.

Arthur feels his men tensing. He puts back his glove and sets his helmet on his head.

\- "Go back in, Merlin", he hisses.

The young man pauses. His blue eyes take in the first ring of walls that protect the Lower Town, the steel glints in the darkness, the grim faces, the soldiers leaning over the slots. The archers are ready, the knights have their hands on the hilt of their swords.

Suddenly, the fearsome chanting stops.

Time seems suspended for a moment.

Then lightning tears up the sky, glowing for a few seconds over the thousands of men surrounding the city, and the swelled clouds burst open thunderously, pouring a torrential rain over the castle, as the army of Odin charges onto Camelot.

* * *

_**TBC**_


	32. Into the battlefield

** INTO THE BATTLEFIELD**

* * *

The soldiers do not remember the fourteen years old acrobat the king banished after the raid to Daobeth. They glance absently at the scrawny boy who was sent to the front line as soon as he was well enough to stand up, then loose interest in him.

Night falls upon them and with it hell is unleashed on the castle.

_Fighting is the only coherent thought they have left._

Daegal is glad Arthur gave him the chance to redeem himself in defending Camelot. He can not handle a sword, but he makes himself useful to load the trebuchets pushed onto the market place in the lower town. Under the pouring rain, stonemasons, carpenters and laborers are busy preparing the projectiles and more than one has already barked warnings to the boy who, in his haste, is not wary of the counterweights.

\- "D'you want to get yourself killed?" someone snapped, and Daegal stifled a bitter laugh.

_Why not? He spent the past six years gnawed on by his remorse. Dying almost seems a better way of living._

He brushes back his shaggy blond hair and squints to see through the curtain of drops. His breeches are splotched with mud that slides, viscous, lukewarm, along his neck and inside his shirt. His forearms hurt from pulling on the winches and lifting stones to fill the sling that will send them beyond the city walls.

His ears are filled by the whizzing of the strap crushing the air, the nervous neighing of the horses pulling the carts bringing ammunition, the din of screams and metal gnashing on the ramparts.

Behind the battlements, the men are struggling to get rid of the scales, fighting the waves of soldiers climbing to the assault. Pots of boiling oil are spilled over the slots and a thick sticky smoke soars with the cries of pain.

A cloud of arrows is plummeting and spattering them relentlessly. The iron spikes are bouncing off the walls with sparks, stabbing the wooden beams, lacerating flesh, killing and injuring indiscriminately besiegers and besieged. The clamors do not fade; in the night resound gurgles of death and grunts of pain, bawls of war and desperate cries, calls and orders, blended in an inhuman roar.

Number Four twirls, his flail of arms in one hand, in the other a torch, hurtling tirelessly like a giant troll, knocking off enemies as mere straw scarecrows, trampling armors, mashing jaws, setting on fire the cloaks and horsehair braids of the soldiers of Odin.

Gwaine pierces a man's throat, chops the arm of another, kicks a third in the chest, hurls his shoulder in shields, crooks legs, spins stooping to avoid a mace and grinds his sword against a steel breastplate. He is panting, he lost his helmet and his wavy brown hair is plastered on his face, matted with blood and mud.

Percival is shoring up the town gates, and each time the battering ram thrusts against them, a powerful jolt goes through his body. Face contorted, muscles distended and hard, he encourages huskily the soldiers massed with him against the studded doors braced by lengths of timber. If they yield, if they fail, the enemy will barge into the lower town and take control of the first ring of protection, dangerously approaching the citadel squatted like a big chicken on the people sheltered in the caves.

Arthur's face is red streaked, the forehead wound that snatched away his helmet washed by the water trickling down on his armor darken by smoke smears and blood splatters. The king keeps rallying his troops, indefatigable, his voice rasping but his eyes still piercing, charging into the teeming mass that rushes onto the ramparts. _Has it been hours or minutes? He does not know anymore_. He does not feel his fatigue or the bruises under his chainmail coat. He is only driven by his fierce determination not to give in, not to give up, to stem the rampant flood clinging to the battlements like an invasion of deadly ants, to stop the bloodthirsty mob whose feral yips coalesce with the groans of the Camelot soldiers.

Sir Leon rides along the city walls, finding the breaches, sending reinforcements where they are most needed, monitoring the maneuvers of the trebuchets under a hail of stones and flaming bales. His horse is covered in white foam, mouth flayed by the bit. The steed's nostrils are steaming and its bulging eyes are dilated with fear. It rears when a wall collapses near them, leaping and arching to break free from his rider as another roof catches fire, the wet thatch sizzling under the torrential rain. Sir Leon does not get bucked off, sinks his heels in the panting flanks of the terrorized horse, forces it to calm down, clicking his tongue to steady his heavily breathing mount.

They do not have time to put out the fires, merely prevent their spread, blessing through their swearing the storm that quenches the flames. The town will maybe stand half in ruins after that night, but as long as the enemy does not break through the gates, its catapults are out of reach of the castle.

Agravaine knows it and waits with the reserves beyond the drawbridge, under the shelter of a stone arch. The light of a crackling torch casts shadows on his double chin, greasing his black hair. He tied a yellow ribbon on his left arm and told those who enquired about it that it was a lady's favor.

The men do not see his sarcastic look, busy listening to the howls from the battlefield and trying to guess what is happening from the flares.

When they see Merlin hurriedly limping towards them, their eyes widen in surprise.

\- "_The king_! How is the king?" someone shouts.

\- "Is he _dead_?"

\- "May the gods protect us!"

\- "Did they break through the gates?"

\- "Speak, you idiot!" barks a last one, seeing that the manservant just blinks stupidly, holding a round shield on top of his head to shelter from the rain.

Merlin stares at them, a bit shocked.

\- "It has just started", he protests. "Don't be so ridiculous, Arthur won't let them in so easily!"

\- "_Ridiculous_!" repeats a man with contempt, spitting something gooey at the young man's feet.

\- "It's been _hours_, dimwit!" snarls another.

\- "Oh", Merlin gasps.

Then he turns anxiously to the city walls, forgetting the shield that rolls and falls after bumping against a wheelbarrow.

\- "Hurry up and go back inside, Marvin", orders Agravaine sharply. "You shouldn't be on the battlefield, it's not your place."

The servant nods gravely, then goes through the soldiers who spare him nor jeers, nor shoves. When he reaches the courtyard, silent and empty, he stops, puzzled. The rain patters on the cobblestones and on his bony shoulders, soaking his shirt, glistening in his dark hair.

He does not understand. He _just_ left Arthur.

He sneaks down to the caves and his arrival causes a sensation. He is assailed by anxious questions - _my husband__, my brother, my father, my fiancé, my son? _\- and mumbles, drowned. Guinevere saves him, scattering off the crowd and brings him to his grandfather who knits his eyebrows to the point they almost jump out of his broad and wrinkled forehead at seeing him drenched. Albion climbs on a stool to dry his head with a piece of cloth and she suddenly yelps.

\- "Oh! It's all red!"

Gaius feels the skull of his grandson who lets go of a muffled moan when the gnarled fingers touch a cut at the back of his neck, and shrinks off.

\- "How did you do that to yourself?" scolds the court physician.

\- "Er ..."

Merlin thinks hard for a moment, then everything comes back to him.

He ran down the stairs and limped to the castle through the town as the storm burst out and the human tide flowed to assault the ramparts under a downpour of rocks and fire balls. He remembers an explosion and being flung into the air, then nothing. He woke up in a fog of brassy smoke, stumbled out of the burning area, hobbled to the castle with his ears tingling, not very sure of where he was anymore.

\- "Ah", the physician relents. "I understand. Do you feel sick? Any nausea or dizziness?"

\- "No", says Merlin, almost sheepishly. "I'm fine. It just stings a bit."

\- "Good", exclaims Guinevere, relieved. "I'll clean it and put a gauze on it, then you'll be patched as new."

\- "No need to dress it", smiles Gaius who has already swabbed the cut with a cloth. "It's almost dry, Albion just wiped the blood-stained drops in his hair. My boy, you have the luckiest star in the world. Now, do me the pleasure of putting an end to finding yourself in dire situations and _stay put_ somewhere! If you insist in making yourself useful, help out in the infirmary. Enough with your running around."

\- "Yes, it is tiring, _my_ _boy_", chides Albion, waving her finger.

The adults laugh, Merlin obtains his forgiveness with a grin and the incident is closed.

_When down in the caves, you only hear a vague humming and the little girl has no idea that, up there, her father is risking his life to defend them._

People are dozing as they wait.

Morgan is sitting on a damask blanket Guinevere gave her. Mordred laid his head on her lap and drowsed off despite his boyish pride. She is stroking his cheek, her pale eyes lost in a dream or a memory. Close to her heart, under her shawl, she holds the tattered book telling the story of Tristan and Isolde.

The Dolma eventually grabbed Albion and nestled her in her skirts, until the forced inactivity reminded the child that she was tired. The little girl snuggled like a kitten in the long arms of her nurse and fell asleep with her ragged teddy bear tucked under her chin.

Guinevere did a tour to comfort some of the refugees and prevent others from quarrelling, finding a word for each. When she was done ordering the squires to stop training, she went to the vault, on the floor just above the caves, where is set the infirmary. Wounded men keep being brought in and she gave a hand. Then, when she saw Merlin swaying on his rangy legs, she knew it was time to leave and take some rest, and she led the servant out of the room full of suffering and moans.

Merlin is sleeping soundly, now, his head leaning against the shoulder of his friend who contemplates the wooden case Arthur entrusted to her before he went off to fight.

Everyone took what they hold dearest to go down to the shelter, but among all the treasures he owns, the king only chose a simple rosewood box. The key is at Arthur's neck, but the queen does not need to open it to know what it contains.

_The letters of Mithian and those of Merlin._

Guinevere fiddles with her alliance and with the silver ring she detached from the hilt of the sword.

_"Twice will your heart be broken..." said the old woman in the forest._

Guinevere is only beginning to understand what these words meant.

She sighs, props her elbow on a rock and rests her head on it, trying not to wake Merlin, and finally closes her eyes.

A few hours - _or perhaps just a few minutes_ \- later, the first rays of dawn pierce the clouds above the castle and the rain dries up, leaving a myriad of bright droplets on the battlefield.

The outer walls stood firm, but the losses are heavy. The bodies of soldiers in red and gold litter the stairs, jumbled with the yellow uniforms of their enemies; thick columns of gray smoke are billowing over the roofs of the lower town; broken spears are jabbed in the ground at the foot of the ramparts; corpses are floating in the moat.

Odin calls off the assault as the sun rises and his army sets camp out of shooting range but all around the wounded city. Understanding that the scorching heat of the day will give them a few hours of respite, Arthur shepherds the Camelot defenders back inside.

Women, children and the men who have not been called to fight rush towards them. Here a mother hugs tight her son dripping with water and blood; there a father kneels despite the wound in his thigh to scoop in his arms a toddler and his sniveling sister; a young girl kisses passionately her fiancé; an old man shakes hands with his two sons covered in mud but alive, and tears seep in his white beard.

The farmers stare admiringly at the soldiers they often criticized for their pay earned doing nothing in these times of peace; the nobles curtsey when the knights arrive in their dented armors and torn cloaks.

Even before Guinevere and Albion spot him, Merlin worked his way through the crowd and jumped at Arthur's neck. The king briefly hugs him with a relieved smile, then places a kiss on the cheek of his wife who checks him for injuries and ruffles the blond hair of his daughter who looks at him curiously.

\- "You are very dirty, Father", she comments. She gently touches the black blister on his forehead and quickly removes her hand when he quivers involuntarily. "I'm sorry, Sire. Does it hurt a lot?"

Merlin already fetched a basin and fresh cloths, and cleans the king's face after bossing him to sit on a stool. Arthur does not try to resist, dazed and so tired he barely feels any of his limbs.

Gwaine and Percival come to report as soon as they have their own scratches patched up. Sir Leon has made of list of the dead and brings it grimly. Number Four walks in dragging Daegal by the scruff of the neck. The boy looks like an afanc, covered in mud from head to toe. The warrior drops him in a corner and the former acrobat curls into a ball and falls asleep immediately.

The king orders them to take a few hours of rest whilst Agravaine oversees the sentinels that will call them, should the assault resume earlier than expected. The men crash on makeshift bunks everywhere in the caves, watched over by their families. The children keep quiet, impressed by the seriousness of the adults. Albion is working at her embroidery under the stern eye of the Dolma, while Guinevere is in the infirmary where she relays Gaius. The exhausted old physician reluctantly agreed to go lie down for a while and Merlin is at his side, dabbing the withered brow with a damp cloth.

Gwaine, however, lingers when everyone else has left and the king runs a weary hand over his drawn features.

\- "I know", he says, not looking up at the bearded knight. "The lower town will not hold a second assault."

\- "If you know, why don't you allow me to go through the _wildorene's hole_ and do what needs to be done?" softly retorts Gwaine.

\- "Because I need you _here_. Because the first beacon outpost must have been taken or destroyed, and you'd have to go to the second one. And any riders heading this way _will_ be killed on sight. Because it's a too dangerous bet and we don't even know if our allies would respond to our call."

\- "Exactly!" presses the knight, stifling his voice so not to attract the attention of the sleepers or the peasants. "If we don't give it a go, we won't ever know if their loyalty is true to Albion or if they simply signed the treaty and will watch the quarry from afar instead of coming to Camelot's help."

Arthur sighs and, this time, he stares back at his lieutenant and friend.

\- "Do not tempt me", he whispers.

A growl makes him turn his head and he finds Number Four standing next to him and offering him his sword.

\- "See, Derian doesn't know what I'm talking about, but he is volunteering to help", insists Gwaine. "Let me tell you, if he comes, I'm _double_ sure we'll make it."

\- "You're a fool. I'll be losing my two best men at arms…" begins the king who pauses when Percival and Sir Leon step out of the shadows.

\- "But _we_ will be there", says the brawny man, not looking offended in the least.

\- "Sire, listen to him", adds the curly commander gravely. "The lower town will fall in the next battle, for sure. We can hold on three, maybe four days against such an army, but no longer. Camelot's only chance rests on the coming of our allies. We _need_ someone to light the fires on the mountains."

Arthur stays silent for a long time, then he swallows hard, gazes at each of the men with whom he has been through so much, and nods.

\- "Very well. Gwaine and Derian, you will go through the _wildorene's hole_ and leave for the beacons outposts. Ride at full speed and may the gods be with you."

\- "Where are they going?" enquires a hushed voice and they turn to see Merlin whose blue eyes are full of anxious questions. "What is the wheel-do-rim?"

\- "_Wildorene_", corrects the king absently. He frowns and adds in a very serious tone: "Merlin, this is absolute secrecy. You must _not_ tell anyone. No one _at all_."

\- "But Guinevere?"

\- "I'll tell her myself."

\- "How about your uncle?"

Arthur hesitates.

\- "No, not even to him."

\- "Okay", just answers the young man, and they know that nothing could make him betray them.

_He has already proved he could be trusted._

The six men go up to the castle and quietly prepare some food and two horses used to travel long distances at full gallop. Then, instead of going back into the caves, they sneak in a tunnel that opens behind a rusty gate, deep in the vaults, on the same floor as the infirmary. On the clay ground, the hoofs make no noise. The torches cast shadows on the pillars and beams that support the ceiling.

After the terrible events that happened ten years ago, Arthur has condemned the tunnels beneath Camelot. What Gwaine calls the _wildorene's hole_ \- and after he nicknamed it like this, the only four aware of the existence of the secret passage somehow started to do the same - is a narrow maze under the castle, barely big enough to let in a docile horse led by the bridle. The bearded knight compares it with the burrows dug by the legendary giant baby rats haunting the horror tales the soldiers like to share during their watches.

When they get to the heavy iron door separating them from the gently sloping chimney leading to a waterfall pit, deep in the woods beyond the army encamped on the surface, Arthur stops and shakes arms with the two warriors who have volunteered for the hellish ride.

\- "Thank you", he whispers.

\- "Thank _you_, Sire", Gwaine replies, hiding the slight moist in his eyes behind his usual roguish smile.

_Thank you for giving me a chance._

_Thank you for making me a knight._

_Thank you for entrusting me with Camelot's survival._

Percival gives a crushing hug to his friend and Sir Leon military salutes his lieutenant, eyes filled with lots of recommendations that he does not word out in respect for Gwaine's courage.

Number Four gives a disciplined nod to his officer, shakes hands with the brawny man and kneels in front of Arthur who makes him stand up.

\- "We're counting on you", the king repeats. "Our lives and the lives of the people of Camelot are in your hands."

Gwaine goes to Merlin who looks at them, unshed tears shining in his blue eyes.

\- "Hey", softly says the former drunk. "Don't you worry, okay? We'll be back in a few days."

He takes the young man in his arms and holds him tight, gently patting the bony back.

\- "Farewell, mate."

_Thank you, Merlin._

_Thank you for being who you are._

_Thank you for becoming my friend when I was worth nothing._

_Thank you for believing in me._

He pulls away, tousles the dark mop of hair of the lanky servant, as he always does, and steps aside as Number Four approaches Merlin.

The former murderer bends down and, very slowly, leans his forehead against the young man's. Merlin raises his hands and puts them on Derian's face, in a gesture so solemn, so simple, that it looks like a blessing.

The White Shadow then joins the knight and they are about to push the door when someone chirps in the dark:

\- "Oh. What are you doing here?"

Arthur flinches and spins on his heels violently.

Albion is getting out of a hole barely wide enough for a fox.

\- "Where do you come from?" snaps the king.

The little girl's face falls. She puts her hands behind her back and lowers her amber eyes not to see his angry frown or the alarmed eyes of Sir Leon and Percival.

\- "I ... we were playing ... ... I was hiding in the big secret room ... and then I saw the light ... the torch was flashing like that, in between the rocks ... I'm sorry ... Father ... Your Majesty ..."

Merlin limps up to her.

\- "You shouldn't be here", he gently scolds. "It's a _secret_."

Albion nibbles her lips.

\- "I won't tell, I _promise_", she squeaks feebly.

Gwaine smiles and gives the bridle of his horse to Number Four. He comes to the child, crouches in front of her and offers her his signature grin. The tension in the air eases at this.

\- "Do you know you're the prettiest lady among the five kingdoms?" he asks in his most charming voice.

Albion giggles involuntarily, not noticing Arthur who softened and is rolling his eyes.

\- "Father said if you were still courting me in ten years, he would hang you by your toes to the highest tower of the castle", she warns.

\- "Your father is a barbarian", scoffs the bearded knight. "I'm not _courting_ you in any way, this is just my heart bursting into a song as it passes by such kindness and beauty, princess."

The child wiggles happily.

\- "Now, my lord", she simpers, flinging her eyelashes and waving him off as she often saw the ladies do it when the flatterer tried to smooth-talk them. "You need to stop. I do not fancy you."

Gwaine chuckles, then his face becomes serious.

\- "At least give me a kiss, for I am leaving for a long quest and only thinking of you will carry me home."

Albion squints to make out truth from the game, then spontaneously ties her arms around the neck of the knight and puts a big kiss on his cheek.

\- "Come back soon, Sir Gwaine", she urges. "You need to repair my teddy bear's stitching or he'll lose all the straw in his belly."

The man gets up and pats the little blonde head.

\- "Farewell, Princess."

The iron door grates as it turns on its hinges and the two men disappear into the darkness, the light of their torch quickly swallowed by a curve of the tunnel.

\- "Let's go back to the caves, we must rest to be fit for the battle tonight", Arthur mutters.

Percival and Sir Leon nod silently.

Merlin takes Albion's hand.

\- "What was this _big secret room_ you were talking about?" he asks.

The little girl's eyes light up and she points to the hole from which she came.

\- "It's just behind the wall. It is sooooo big, with drawings engraved all over the pillars and the ceiling – and then there's the sword."

\- "What sword?" Arthur demands, frowning.

\- "A golden sword all tangled in cobwebs", explains the child. "The sun shines right on top of it, it looks very nice. It is stuck in a stone, Father. Like they say in the story."

* * *

**_TBC_**


	33. The Sword in the Stone

** THE SWORD IN THE STONE**

* * *

The underground hall is filled by a fresh smell of ivy, wet earth and juniper. The massive pillars are smoke smeared, the stone carvings covered with a thin layer of glimmering dust. Small white flowers and ferns sprouted in the gaps on the mural fresco.

In the center, under the sun shower falling from a hole in the ceiling, stands a rock.

And thrust in it, like a challenge, like a dream born from a legend, is a sword with a golden hilt and a strange inscription on the blade.

\- "These are ancient runes", says Gaius after examining them with his magnifying glass, his old bones creaking as he straightens up. "_Take me up, cast me away_. There's no doubt, Sire. This is the lost sword."

Arthur's eyes widen in amazement.

\- "To say that it was there all this time ... this cave must dated from the time Camelot was only a wooden fortress, they were probably using it as a shelter when under attack."

He clears his throat, rubs his neck.

\- "Good. This will be an additional room, at least, people will be less crowded."

\- "Are you really going to let them in, sire?" yelps Geoffrey of Monmouth whose jaw is finally back to normal after remaining blocked on a -o- shape for a good quarter of an hour. "This is a site of high historical importance! These ... these uneducated fools will try to pull it out!"

The king has a small smile, half-weary, half-amused.

\- "Well, if anyone succeeds, it means we had the wrong ruler reigning over Camelot, that's all."

\- "They will _ruin_ it!" squeals the bald old man.

Arthur raises a hand to demand silence.

\- "This room, clean and big enough to accommodate a thousand people, is a _blessing_ ", he states in a commanding voice. "It will allow us to shelter the wounded if Odin breaks through the outer walls and if his catapults start pounding the castle. I don't care how important it is, if the royal treasury vaults were convenient enough for that, I would have people bunk in them, in these circumstances."

He walks away and distributes orders, and the poor distraught historian sees himself quickly overwhelmed by a curious crowd as people are desperate to forget the threat hanging over their heads.

The children want to touch the dull blade, the teens grasp the engraved golden hilt, peasants and town folks are clustering around the rock, amazed.

Obviously, the sword does not move an inch when they try to pull it from the stone.

The knights and the soldiers just looked at it from afar, then went back to catching up on sleep. The women set new pallets in the large comfortably dry and airy room, then sit down and peel tons of vegetables. Four huge pots are hung in the fireplace to prepare a stew that will feed hundreds of mouths. Merlin and some other servants are bringing in wood, carrying buckets of water, counting loaves of bread and cheese wheels, filling wine pitchers, collecting provisions for sharing.

At the foot of the stone fresco, the Dolma is telling a story to Albion, surrounded by a good fifty kids, kneeling or lying on their bellies, sons of nobles and daughters of merchants alike, all enthralled by the epic tale the former actress portrays with the help of sound effects and rolling of eyes.

\- "Many years ago, before the birth of the five kingdoms, this land wa_a_s in an endless cycle of bloodshed and wa_a_r, but one ma_a_n wa_a_s determined to end all tha_a_t."

\- "I know, it's Bruta, the first king of Camelot!" tweets Albion who has already heard this story - _her favorite_ \- hundreds of times. "And his sword was called Excla ... Esca ... Escalibur."

The Dolma strokes her blond hair.

\- "_Exca__a__libur_. He ga_a_thered together the elders of each tribe and drew up plans for the lands to be divided. Each would respect the others' bounda_a_ries, and drew it over the land a_a_s they saw fit."

The children listen intently, some with their chin propped in their hands, some with their mouths ajar. Morgana also listens to the tale, from the wall against which she is leaning with her arms crossed, her long raven curls cascading down to her waist. A wry smile adorns her pale lips and her quartz gaze never leave the nurse.

Mordred is sitting cross-legged on a folded blanket, sharpening a sword carefully, holding his back very straight in the chainmail coat that is a little too big for him. A sheen of sweat covers his forehead, under his dark bangs.

He pays no attention to the tale, his eerie blue eyes glazed as if he was in a trance.

In front of him, Agravaine is studying a plan of the castle.

\- " When Bruta_a_ wa_a_s on his deathbed, he a_a_sked to be taken to a secret location. There, with the la_a_st of his strength, he thrust his sword into a rock. If this land wa_a_s to be divided ever again, this would form a test. Only a _true_ king of Ca_a_melot could pull Exca_a_libur free."

All eyes turn to the gleaming blade standing in the sunlight in the middle of the huge room. The boys sigh, thinking of the glory that would bring them this feat, the girls picture Bruta in the guise of a blond knight wearing a red cape ...

\- "Then could _Father_ pull it out?" Albion asks thoughtfully, knitting her eyebrows exactly as does Arthur at the same time, in another cave, while he listens to the sentinels reporting to him.

\- "Of course", quips the son of Sir Elyan. "But he doesn't need to prove he's the king, _everyone_ knows that!"

The Dolma tilts her head to the side, a mysterious glint in her lime green irises.

\- "There comes the end of the story. When the sword wa_a_s thrust into the stone, the ancient king foretold tha_a_t one day it would be freed again a_a_t a time when Ca_a_melot needed it most. The ma_a_n who freed it would be called the _Once and Future King_. He would reunite the land and rule over the greatest kingdom the world ha_a_s ever known. Legend ha_a_s it tha_a_t this hero would be led to the sword by the hand of a child."

In the eyes of the kids sparkle stars. They all see themselves encountering the warrior one evening as they come back from plowing the fields or working at the market, or going across the courtyard after a fencing or embroidery lesson.

_They would take him by the hand and lead him to the caves, to the underground hall where the ceiling glitters like the surface of a lake at night. And there, under their very eyes, he would pull the sword from the stone ..._

Albion watches her father who steps heavily in the room and sits down on a pallet among his soldiers, like if he was the lowest of squires. He looks tired, his strained smile barely hides his concern, his clothes are dirty and his shoulders slightly hunched.

The lower lip of the little girl quivers.

Then Merlin limps up to the king, a big pillow in his arms, his lopsided grin reaching the tip of his protruding ears, and teases Arthur until the king looks confident again.

The amber eyes light up at the familiar sight.

Her father may not be the legendary warrior, but she loves him with all her heart. And most of all she wants to please him and serve him. She decides they do not need another king but him, no matter the glory and promises of Excalibur. She will not go looking for the mysterious knight, she chooses to believe in Arthur.

She deliberately looks away from the sword and slides off the Dolma's lap. The nurse follows her with a strange gaze - _like one a mother bird proud to finally see her young fledging could have_ \- and then she starts telling another story.

As for the young princess, she trots up to Guinevere who, an apron tied to her waist, cuts thick slices of bacon. She climbs on a stool and offers her help.

While Arthur finally drifts off to sleep for a few hours under the vigilant guard of his manservant, Albion puts generous portions of butter on broad pieces of rye bread, next to the Queen who prepares the supper of their people.

* * *

oOoOoOo

* * *

When the king rouses up, Percival gently shaking his shoulder, it is substantially darker in the underground hall and a warm smell of boiled meat and cabbage has replaced the cold ferruginous scent of the sanctuary.

The fire is still burning in the huge hearth, casting a glow on the statues roaming the stone fresco.

\- "You should eat something, Sire", says the brawny man, handing him a steaming bowl and a toast.

\- "Have we been called to the battlements?" Arthur asks, rubbing his graveled eyes and stretching his arms and legs.

\- "No, but we will be soon. The heat has abated and it won't be long before night falls, now."

The king shovels down his meal, then gets up. Merlin is bringing water for him to wash, but he stumbles, gets tangled on his impossibly long legs and bucket, water, linen and servant, everything ends up on the ground.

\- "What are you doing?" Arthur mutters, helping his friend up. "What was that? Did you tripped on _yourself_? Better and better, _Mer_lin."

\- "Sorry", the young man mumbles, big blue eyes more bewildered than ever. "I think I lost my balance."

\- "Good thing you weren't taking a stroll on the city walls with such a _superb_ lack of coordination... No, don't clean this just now, you'll have time for that when ... well. Go get my weapons and my shield, instead."

Merlin scurries away and Percival smiles.

\- "He found you another helmet, Sire. But I'm afraid your head might be too big for it."

Someone chuckles and Arthur pulls a face.

\- "Oops. A very unfortunate way of putting things", Sir Leon snickers behind them.

\- "For a moment I thought you were Gwaine", sighs Arthur. "He ..."

Again, he does not end the sentence pregnant with all that could happen tonight.

It is the evening of the second battle.

At dawn, when the dragon's breath blows through the country, the men go back inside, exhausted and far fewer than when they left the caves.

The lower town has fallen.

Under a downpour of fire and arrows, they fought fiercely, massed behind the gates until the fiery mouth of the battering ram broke through the lengths of timber, the studded doors and the iron bars. Many died to stem the invasion of the yellow uniforms.

Then the barricades fell one by one in the city drowned in a flurry of suffering, blood, agony, fear. Like a lava flow, Odin's army spread in the streets and houses, destroying everything in its path.

\- "Retreat - _RETREAT_!" Arthur yelled in a hoarse, shrill voice when he realized they had lost the lower town.

They fell back behind the second ring of ramparts, took up the drawbridge as the first light of dawn glided over the yet untouched white towers.

The camp is now set on the marketplace and the trebuchets are at the hands of the enemy. Scrawny figure with eyes haunted by the horrors he saw, Daegal managed to sneak inside just in time.

* * *

The dark smoke rising above Camelot almost engulfs the sun in its scrolls reeking of burnt flesh, thatch, wood and straw, and this cloud is visible from afar across the plain, like a black bird in the bright morning light.

\- "They're still alive. I _know_ they are. We need to hurry", Gwaine mutters through his teeth, and his heels urge his exhausted horse on the steep uphill path through the mountain.

Behind him, so does Number Four.

The cold wind flogs their beards, their noses, their eyes, scourging their throats and leaving them with the bitter taste of blood. Their gray wool coats are billowing and offer poor protection from the swirling flakes at this altitude.

The first outpost in Stonewell has been ransacked, as Arthur had predicted. The two riders were almost spotted by the men guarding it.

The only chance of Camelot awaits at the ridge of Kemeray. If they can light the pyre there, then the fire will spread from mountain to mountain. Mercia -_ in the North_ \- and Essetir - _to the East_ \- will be informed within hours by the relays, and they will convey the alarm to the South - _Nemeth_ \- and to the West - _Gawant_.

In less than three days the allied armies will cross the borders and Odin would be mad if he thought he could fight when attacked on all fronts.

_Two days._

_Camelot__ must hold on two more days._

Gwaine fumbles in his bag and gets an apple from the dozens he packed. He bites in it, leaning forward, his eyes narrowing to watch his steps on the escarped trail.

_He__ will save them._

_He__ will save them all._

Gravels rattle down noisily behind him, followed by a shrieking whinny and a groan of pain.

\- "Derian!" he cries, turning, pulling on the reins, not worrying about hurting the bloody gums of his mount.

Number Four gives him a reassuring nod as he painfully gets up. His horse collapsed and slid on the slope. The steed broke a leg and seeing how the White Shadow moves, Gwaine figures the man has probably been hurt in the fall as well.

Its eyes bulging, the poor horse is panting, nostrils covered in a white foam.

\- "What a pity", mutters the bearded knight.

That's all, because they do not have time to mourn the death of an animal when the lives of thousands of people are at stake and depend on them to be saved.

Number Four crouches, puts his hand on the neck trembling with fear, fatigue and pain. He purrs gently, flatters the sweat drenched hair, carefully unbuckles the straps of his bags and throws them on his shoulder with a wince. Then he pulls his knife from his belt and swiftly thrusts it in the heart of the horse, killing it instantly.

He gets up, wipes the blade dripping hot blood on his thigh, then follows Gwaine on the steep trail.

* * *

oOoOoOo

* * *

The women are crying.

Arthur buries his face in his hands to avoid the sight of the room filled with grieving families.

_956__ men._

_956__ souls._

_956__ deaths._

The horrible number pounds in his heart, resounds against his eardrums like a splitting headache, a guilty bell.

The women are crying, but they said nothing. None of them cast him a reproachful stare, none yelled or fought back as she fell in the arms of her friends, her parents, when the body of her son, her husband, her betrothed, her brother, her father was brought back to her.

Some of them do not even have a corpse to mourn over.

_Two__ battles and already so many losses._

_What hope is there?__ How can one believe it is still possible to survive? How to rebuild life in a world where so many people are missing?_

Arthur did not know all their faces, neither all their names, but he felt his heart beating together with them as they charged against their enemies.

_These were__ his people._

_His soldiers__, his knights, his children._

Hiding his shame in his hands, alone in the great hall where the discreet sobs lull him like the soft murmur of the sea, he does not open his eyes, focused on the pain.

_He__ lost them._

_Everything is__ his fault._

He dearly wishes he would be elsewhere, would not have to carry the weight of this responsability on his shoulders, could go back, make another choice perhaps, change the past, do not be the one who leads them to their death.

Slowly, someone takes off the hands pressed against his face smudged with smoke and blood, and he sees Merlin's cobalt orbs, filled with tears.

\- "It's not true", the manservant whispers. "It's not your fault."

Someone clears his throat and he lifts his head in a daze.

Sir Leon is standing there with a bandage across his face that covers the deep gash that will disfigure him for the rest of his life.

\- "Sire", he says in his usual firm and steady voice. "We just want you to know there isn't a man among us who would not die for you. We made our pledge."

Percival is here too, his arm in a sling, his bare shoulder glossy from the ointment applied to reduce the red swelling streaked by bruises of his left side.

\- "We wear the Pendragon crest with pride", adds the brawny man with a gentle smile. "Yesterday, today, tomorrow, we fight in your name, sire. For freedom and justice in this land."

Guinevere kneels at the feet of her husband, her rough fingers of maidservant intertwining with his calloused fingers of swordsman, her hazel eyes moist and devoted.

\- "We would fight a thousand armies with our bare hands for you, Sire."

Merlin nods.

\- "We're never alone. We stand together."

Arthur looks at them one by one, overwhelmed by their loyalty, their friendship, the simplicity with which they come - again – to help him up when he thinks he is down for good.

His lips quiver and he swallows back his tears.

Lancelot's strength suddenly spurts in his veins, he can almost feel Gwaine's fierce courage, Mithian's everlasting love for both Albion-the-land and Albion-the-child floods in him.

He gets up, straightens his aching shoulders in his chainmail coat shredded and speckled in scarlet splashes, grabs the hilt of the sword planted in the ground next to him.

The cloud fades away in his sapphire eyes.

On the other side of the room, the Dolma squeezes the princess' hand as the little girl, amazed, contemplates her father who stands up at last.

\- "This is our king", the nurse breathes.

* * *

oOoOoOo

* * *

Squatting in a dark corner, Morgana, fascinated, stares at Arthur while swaying back and forth, hugging the book telling Tristan and Isolde's story, her long raven hair dangling like a mane over her quartz eyes - beautiful and wild and crazy.

Agravaine snorts and leaves the cave like a shadow, in a hurry, with long annoyed strides.

His fist is clawed on a rolled parchment that contains a map of the castle.

Grinding his teeth and smacking his lips like a dog that needs to be dewormed, he looks everywhere in the vaults, searching behind shields, racks of halberds and tapestries, until he feels a presence in his back.

\- "What are you looking for, my lord?"

He turns round slowly, plastering an agreeable look on his puffy features. A oily drill came off his carefully slicked back hair and falls on one of his calculating black eyes.

\- "Why do you have a _yellow_ favor tied to your arm? Don't you know it is the crest color of our enemy?" continues the amused but cold voice. "Would you happen to be a traitor?"

Agravaine narrows his eyes.

\- "What thinks a child like you doesn't matter much to me", he sighs. "You know nothing. I'm _always_ working for the good of the kingdom."

Mordred's eerie blue eyes make him uncomfortable, like every time he locks with them. There is too much emptiness, too much depth in them, too much blame - too many unanswered questions.

The boy gives a short, mirthless laugh.

\- "Your armor is so _clean_, my lord" he sneers. "It can't be the hospital or the washtubs you're looking for."

\- "Shut up and go back to hell it is you usually creep."

\- "Oh, but why show so rude? Now, I was about to tell you where is what you're looking for."

The man stiffens.

\- "H-how?" he chokes.

Mordred smirks and licks his pearly white teeth. His eyes are such a piercing blue in his milky face, under his so dark curls.

\- "My _cousin_, my lord, is quite a naughty little girl. It could be… that as she played hide and seek ... she stepped in a well-guarded secret ... the door for which you have worn your eyes out on the maps and plans of Camelot under the pretext of strengthening the citadel."

His voice becomes icy.

\- "The tunnel you've been tormenting my mother about."

Agravaine steps forward and grabs the child's arm violently.

\- "Where is it?" he hisses. "You _must_ tell me! This is about Camelot, the _throne_!"

Mordred stares at the hand bruising his skin, until the man withdraws it like if that look burnt him.

\- "Very well", says Morgana's son. "I will take you there."

He casts a quick glance around, then guides the king's uncle to the locked gate hidden deep in the vaults.

Gaius sees them passing through the hospital, but does not ask questions. He is worn to a frazzle, his white hair sticks to his wizened cheeks, and he is wiping his glasses for the thousandth time, at the bedside of a dying man.

\- "It's here", Mordred says at last, stepping aside so Agravaine can slip through the entrance of the tunnel.

\- "It's not even locked!" sneers the man, sinking into the darkness, grabbing a torch burning on the wall.

The cool breath of the earth welcomes him and he inhales deeply, inflating his chest.

\- "There's another door", warns Mordred. "Further."

Agravaine arches an eyebrow, then shrugs and walks ahead, noting the hoofprints left by the riders the day before.

\- "So he has already sent someone", he mumbles. "Arthur is not as stupid as I thought ..."

The murky torchlight dances with his shadow on the walls as he goes deeper in the secret passage.

Mordred creeps slowly, quietly, behind the back of the man who did not realize he was being followed. The boy's eerie blue eyes are dilated and a drop of crimson blood beads his nostril as he clenches his fist on the short sword he carries at his belt.

* * *

_**TBC**_

* * *

_**Next chapter : what happened in the wildorene's hole, Daegal pays his debt, Gwaine and Number Four finally make it to the Ridge of Kemeray...**_


	34. Destiny

**DESTINY**

* * *

One after the other, drops of water are oozing from the ceiling, slowly, then falling into a brownish puddle.

_Plop__. Plop. Plop._

The simple, hollow sound echoes throughout the tunnel.

Crumpled on the ground next to the torch sputtering a dirty yellowish smoke, Mordred tries to catch his breath. His heart is pounding violently under his ribs and his hands tremble uncontrollably.

He lets go of a small bitter laugh.

Then doubles over and throws up.

Right by him, in a pool of dark blood, Agravaine is staring at nothingness.

_He killed him__._

When the lord leaned to check the door hidden deep in the tunnel, the child thrust his sword with all his strength under the man's armpit, where there's no armor. A red spurt gushed out with a sickening noise of torn flesh and Agravaine collapsed with a cry of pain strangled in his throat and a stunned look on his face.

Mordred feels something viscous and warm running down his cheek and he is not too sure whether it is blood or tears.

_No, not tears._

_He won't be weak._

He gets up swaying a bit; his fingers dig in the soft earth of the wall to support his weight. His legs are unsteady, and the aftertaste of bile down in his mouth makes his stomach churn.

He picks up the torch, squinting: his head is throbbing.

_It is done._

The flabby body taunts him, lying motionless on the ferruginous ground. The face is so white, the cheeks so sagged. The flickering light gleams in the black hair of the dead man and in his glassy eyes.

He was so talkative in the secret passage. Telling himself of a bright future so close, of a castle far from the austere cliffs of _Meredor_, of women with soft breasts and sumptuous hair, of a cascade of gold coins and of power. Of a revenge finally achieved _\- the father kills the sister, the uncle kills the son_ \- and he chuckled so happily, so vainly, so detestably that Mordred had a toothache.

_He never mentioned Morgana, not even__ once._

When he fell, he only had time to say a few words before the child, abruptly removing the blade, put an end to his life.

\- "Fool! I would have put you on the throne. You're my ..."

Mordred hissed, baring fangs like a young animal.

\- "No", he rasped. "_No_, I'm _not_. My mother loved Alvarr and you killed him. You are nothing to me. I want _nothing_ from you."

For a moment, the man stared at him intensely - _not__ a look of betrayal, no, but a look of an almost amused stupefaction _\- then he slumped down with a gurgle.

Mordred felt his strength dissolve like a handful of sand and he fell on his knees in the narrow secret passage filled with a pungent hot smell that made him dizzy.

_He did it__._

He killed the uncle who offered his niece pretty trinkets and listened sympathetically to the tale of her woes, who knew how to make her feel better, calmer, when she was overwhelmed by an anger so close to madness, who has managed to become so indispensable that Morgana does not know anymore how to take a decision by herself.

He killed the lord who condemned to death a curly haired vagabond whose only crime had been to be reading romance on a beach, on the same day a desperate princess strolled in the salty wind, wishing there was someone who could understand her.

He killed the shadow who sometimes slipped into his mother's room and whose heavy pants mingled with the thuds of the bed and the whimpers of the young woman.

_He killed Lord Agravaine._

_It's over._

He is standing up and his worst enemy is down at his feet, defeated.

He avenged his mother.

He freed them both from their jailer.

_It's over._

_He was gone for a long time, his mother is probably worried. He needs to go back; she's scared when she's alone._

His eerie blue eyes are dry, expressionless, cold, though his chin is quivering like one of a child about to burst in sobs.

\- "It's okay, Mordred", he says aloud in order to regain control of his nerves. "You did what you had to do."

He clenches his fingers on the handle of the torch, wipes the blood that splattered his face with the back of his sleeve, then leaves wobblingly.

He left the soiled sword on the ground and the darkness quickly engulfs the last glints of the blade.

* * *

oOoOoOo

* * *

Billows of gray and thick smoke, screams and metal clashes everywhere. Arrows whirring and piercing the skin balls filled with fat, resin and saltpeter thrown by the enemy against the walls. A swooshing flame soars, swells over the battlements, consuming everything in its path like a fiery lion. The palisade blasts off, splintering in hundreds of wooden darts.

Daegal has received one in the cheek and the thorn hurts more than his flayed leg or his sprained wrist. He tirelessly keeps running, following orders, head down, hair dripping with sweat, his drenched shirt stuck to his back. He resplenishes the archers' quivers, carries pots of boiling oil, crouches between two soldiers when a cloud of deadly black birds flies through the air, hurries to Sir Elyan with the message from Sir Leon. His throat is dry, his eyes water in the chafing smoke, he so exhausted that sometimes all sounds vanish from his ears.

He does not know for how long they have been fighting. Surely dawn will soon come - and with it some respite.

Daegal barely slept last night, haunted by the cries of the dying, the trebuchet bangs and the visions of gaping eyes, outstretched hands, shredded corpses.

_If only all of this could stop._

_Just stop._

_Please, let it stop ..._

Arthur's helmet was jabbed and his bleeding nose smeared the rest of his face. You can only see his bright blue eyes in the suffocating glow of the flares.

He knows that if they lose ground tonight, only the castle walls and a few doors will keep the enemy from slaughtering the refugees.

_They must hold on, even only overnight._

_Until tomorrow..._

_Maybe dawn will bring hope…_

_If Gwaine and Number Four were able to launch the distress signal from the first outpost in Stonewell, they might have a chance ..._

He knows that it is impossible, that the two riders probably had to go to the pass of Kemeray, so he fights with an even greater fury.

_He will not start thinking they might be dead._

Camelot just has to hold on another night, two, three even if they must.

_Until__ help comes._

He will not let women and children die at the hands of Odin's soldiers, even if it means that everybody has to take on a sword, including farmers, servants and squires.

His tunic is torn and the chainmail split on his shoulder, where he took a mace blow just a moment ago. He stumbles when another explosion shakes the parapet, throwing a protective arm over his face, falling on one knee.

This time the hellish Greek fire really hit close, illuminating the night, sending over the battlements half a dozen soldiers. The palisade is shattered, ashes are twirling everywhere, flames are licking the debris and the seeping stones.

He grabs a bucket of water, empties it over his head, and scrambles through the smoke to lend a hand to the staggering soldiers that are still alive. Hooks are undulating in the dark like metal serpents, gripping on the walls, and barbarian bawls announce a new onslaught.

Daegal, frozen, watches the king rushing to the breach. He feels like he is underwater.

_Not a sound, everything has slowed down, as if the battle took place in a muddy pond._

He sees the belfry pushed to the edge of the moat, archers getting ready with the tips of their arrows burning like will-o'-the-wisps, their leader lowering his arm in command, the heavy leather ball filled with sticky fluid launched by the trebuchet...

_And he knows the king will die, right now, right here._

So he drops everything, forgets his wounds and bruises. He climbs on the nearest merlon and jumps from stone to stone, light as an elf, like when he was fourteen and danced on a tightrope.

The soldiers, the flames, the screams, the blue sparks, everything is just a fog, a crowd of ladies and gentlemen in their festive attires. He can smell the aroma of roasted pork and hear the melody of violas, the melancholic voices of minstrels. He capers gracefully in the air, the bells on his hat jingle happily...

... And he crashes with Arthur through the wooden parapet, as a golden roaring breath engulfs them in its infernal heat.

_For a moment everything becomes white and Merlin's cheerful voice calls him._

_"Why don't you stay in Camelot?"_

_He could have stayed, yes. He could have made the right choice and lived like a human being ..._

_But he did not._

_"I beg you, Daegal! Save Arthur ... don't let them hurt him ..."_

_He is leaving the cell, slamming the door behind him, turning his back on the servant sobbing in fear and pain, hanging from the ceiling to wait for more torture, and who only thinks of his king._

_He was a coward._

_But not anymore._

_Not today._

_"__Look at me, Merlin. I'm sorry ... I will make up for what I've done to you. I'll be a brave man, for once. I promise."_

_He sees__ tears welling up in big blue eyes..._

Then a pit of pain swallows him up and he does not know anything anymore.

Arthur tumbles on the ground and nearly keels over as he gets up tottering, his left shoulder dislocated by the impact.

_He was up__ the walls, he is now down. He does not understand how this happened._

Someone runs to him and he blinked, in a daze.

\- "Sire!"

It is Sir Leon and the knight is paler than death.

He checks the king frantically, mumbling incoherent words about a blast that could have killed him, then kneels amid the broken timber and rubble which cushioned the fall of his liege.

Feverishly, he overturns a lean body and Arthur gags. The wounded man is only a heap of scorched flesh, yet in the horrible mess show very white teeth, like those of a child, when the mouth opens to moan feebly.

\- "t...th... K… i...ing…"

\- "You saved him, lad", whispers the knight. "You saved him. You're a hero."

Arthur crouches with some difficulty. He would like to pat his savior's charred shoulder, but he is afraid to hurt him.

\- "You fought well", he croaks. "Thank you."

The eyes no longer see, but something flits over that mask of raw skin, something like a smile or a sigh of relief. Then it is over.

\- "Who was that?" asks the king in a hoarse voice when he realizes the young man who has just saved his life is dead. "Why would a boy like him be in the battle? I ordered the squires to remain inside."

Sir Leon inhales deeply.

\- "He was no squire, sire. This is Daegal."

Arthur swallows hard.

\- "He paid back his debt", he mutters.

He takes off his torn crimson cloak and covers the body solemnly. Then he picks up his sword and rises.

\- "Let's go back", he orders.

There are still a few hours before dawn. Through the clouds of smoke and the shadows of the flames, a few stars are twinkling on the ink vault like sequins on the mantle of a troubadour.

* * *

oOoOoOo

* * *

Gwaine ties his steed's bridle to a bush and muzzles the horse with a scarf. Then he follows Number Four who started climbing.

The rough rocks scratch their fingers numbed by the cold. They removed their gloves to get a better grasp.

The night is icy, motionless. Not a rustle of insect, not a bird call. Not a snowflake swirling and even the moon seems frozen like a drop of mercury.

Some gravels roll under the knight's boot and the White Shadow shots him a reproachful look from beneath his arm, while hauling himself on a narrow platform.

_"I know__,"_ Gwaine retorts silently. _"I__'m doing my best! I'm not a former assassin trained to act in the utmost discretion!"_

_"__Obviously",_ quip Number Four's black eyes. _"You're__ more the type to charge like a blockhead boar."_

_"Indeed. No, not at all. I can be subtle – sometimes."_

Gwaine huffs, throwing back his wavy brown hair, and accepts Derian's hand to get at his level.

_"What now?"_

Number Four's fingers flutter rapidly, explaining the strategy. Gwaine nods approvingly. Then he slowly draws out his sword, sliding his thumb along the blade.

_No matter what happens._

_The fire must be lit tonight for Camelot to receive help in time._

He meets the White Shadow's gaze, in which glimmers the pale moon and a smile flashes in his shaggy beard.

Spontaneously he clasps arms with the man he has long held responsible for Lancelot's death.

_"Together? For Camelot."_

_"Together,"_ opines Number Four. "_For Merlin and Arthur_."

They climb the last few meters up the steep path to the outpost, slip behind the high stone tower on the top of which stands the stake, crouch down to listen.

_"A soldier."_

_"No, two. A third inside."_

_"__They have a Southern accent. They aren't from Camelot."_

_"__Fresh graves there, on the right."_

_"__Odin took Kemeray too, then. That sly bastard! He had it all planned!"_

Frowning, Gwaine clenches his fists and makes a move to jump on the sentry whom steaming breath they glimpse in the rectangle of light at the feet of the tower.

Number Four holds him back.

_"__If we kill him, another will ring the bell and trigger the alert."_

_"So what?__ If they come, let's just kill them all. And then we light the pyre!"_

Derian puckers his brow.

_"__You dolt! They would drown it before we get a chance to get up there ..."_

Gwaine laughs.

\- "You know, I understand perfectly when you call me names."

The White Shadow's eyes widen, alarmed, but the knight is already on his way to the sentry, his sword in his hand.

\- "Hello there, mate."

The soldier looks at him in bewilderment, then fumbles for the whistle around his neck, lifting his spear to stop the intruder.

\- "No hard feelings, but you picked the wrong king", adds the knight who idly reels the blade on his wrist.

For a split second his eyes narrow, extremely serious, and he strikes without hesitation. Then he steps over the injured man and enters the tower, followed by Number Four who is rolling his eyes.

They quickly climb up the spiral stairs, scathing mercilessly the soldiers trying to stop them, deadly and efficient as two falcons.

At the top of the tower, they halt behind the door and share a glace before hurling it down together and barging on the roof.

Twenty men are waiting for them there, arranged in several semicircles, blocking their access to the stake. Their armors are gleaming in the moonlight.

\- "Tch", tuts Gwaine. "Cheaters _and_ bad losers."

Number Four straightens and rests his large blade over his shoulder, staring at them like a wolf about to hunt.

\- "What d'you think? I reckon that's an opportunity to prove Arthur a Knight of Camelot is worth ten men beyond any border."

The White Shadow smacks his lips and a low growl echoes in his throat.

And after that, the roof becomes a whirlpool of blood droplets, a theatre of gasps and stifled groans, a maelstrom of metal sparks and dark cloaks.

Gwaine's cheeky laughter resounds in the cold night and Number Four's breath blends with the rising mist. They are covered with blood and wounds, but they do not give up, they do not bend, they never stay down. The guard bounces on the shoulder of the knight to sweep a group of men; the former drunk steps on the knee of the former murderer to jump on five others.

They are everywhere - they are just the two of them - and Odin's soldiers fall back despite themselves, overwhelmed by this great number, by this desperate strength.

Back to back, they fight unabated, as if no injuries counted.

And when dawn finally lines the horizon in the distance, like a soft rosy light spreading over the plain and glistening on the White Mountains, a golden path opening over the earth and chasing away the darkness, they are still standing - alone.

\- "It's over", half-gasps, half-chortles Gwaine.

_"We did it."_

The knight staggers to the stake, clings to the rungs of the ladder to climb to the arch above the woodpile. He lets out a cry of rage when he gets there.

\- "They emptied it all!"

Number Four quickly joins him and clenches his fists when he sees there is nothing to light the fire that could save Camelot.

The rising sun is dazzling them and, far, far below, they glimpse a dreadful cloud of smoke.

\- "No", Gwaine hollers. "_NO_!"

Number Four thinks fast, frowning.

_"__The horse! That'd be enough fat to last until the wood burns deep. One of the torches ... We can still make it!"_

They tumble down the spiral stairs, rush along the steep trail to where they hid the mount. Gwaine unties the gelding and the horse snorts, shaking his ears and giving a friendly head butt to his rider.

\- "I'm sorry, old friend", the knight whispers, leaning his forehead against the horse's cheek. "But you'll be a hero. Thanks to you, Camelot will be saved ..."

He steps aside and, suddenly, the mountain caressed by the pink rays of dawn becomes a gray fog.

A hand lands on his shoulder.

He blinks to clear his vision and Number Four's very serious face is there, in front of him.

\- "I s'ppose I'm hurt, eh?"

He looks down and chuckles bitterly.

\- "Ah."

The adrenaline that carried him so far vanishes and leaves him with wobbling knees. He lets go of the horse's bridle and his hand unconsciously comes to press against the gaping hole in his side.

\- "Worst timing ever ..." he grunts.

He lurches forward, caught just in time by Derian who sits him on the hard cold ground and kneels beside him. The pain comes in waves, viciously, now that he knows it should be there.

He can feel his soaked breeches, the icy wind brushing the wound and playing with the loose threads in his shirt, the cold rings of his torn chainmail on his feverish skin.

His brain is darkening and he struggles not to lose consciousness.

\- "Hurry up", he stammers, pushing the hand of Number Four who wants to check the wound. "Shift ... Camelot ... the fire ..."

The horse's mane sweeps his face when the mount nuzzles his chest. The knight kisses the steed's nostrils, then grabs the reins and shoves them to the former murderer.

\- "The people ... Arthur ... Merlin ..."

Derian hesitates. Then, swiftly, he squeezes the man's arm and drives away the horse.

In the light so clear and so pure, Gwaine listens intently, trying to calm his wheezing and difficult breathing.

The clatter of hoofs in the tower sounds strange in the pristine silence of the mountains. He barely guesses the last stifled neighing of the dying horse, and cannot hear the sizzling of the torch igniting the pyre.

He throws his head back, sees through the shrub's twigs the smoke rising, thick and oily, waits for the flames but they do not come.

He is so exhausted that tears of frustration bead his eyes.

_Will the__ stake finally burn at some point?_

He can feel his strenght fading fast.

_Will__ he see the light of hope spreading from mountain to mountain?_

_Will he ever know if he has completed__ his mission?_

_Will__ he die stupidly here, failing absolutely everything in his life?_

A fire crackles, long ago, during a night when all seemed lost as well.

A smile curls on his pale lips and he chins up to throw back his brown wavy hair.

_"No man can know or change his destiny."_

He is sitting at the foot of a tower in ruins and translucent old eyes are gazing to the depths of his soul.

He chuckles.

_"What was written will be, but it is your courage that will be remembered_."

He coughs, cracks open an eye.

\- "How would she had known, that old hag?" he mumbles.

It is broad daylight now.

The whole country is bathed in sun.

"_When comes the last dawn, fear not, you have not failed."_

When Number Four comes back, Gwaine is still sitting under the shrub. His eyes closed, he looks asleep, his hands folded on his stomach, a smile floating on his face.

He is dead.

From mountain to mountain, the fires are hatching, running to get help for Camelot.

* * *

oOoOoOo

* * *

_"__Did I do something good, finally?" asks a trembling voice._

_"__Yes. You did."_

* * *

Merlin shudders, as if he was waking from a dream. Disoriented, he lifts his blue eyes to his grandfather who roused him up, gently shaking his shoulder.

\- "They're calling me ..." he whispers.

Gaius casts a weary glance around him. There are so many wounded moaning and begging around them. He gently tousles his grandson's black mop of hair.

\- "You can't save them all, my boy", he says softly. "Go, have some rest ... and wash, you've got blood up to your ears."

The young man nods, but he does not move.

A tear runs down his cheek and Gaius leans, picks it up on his fingertip.

\- "Merlin?"

The servant is again staring at nothing.

The court physician checks his forehead for fever, just in case, then sits on the bed that has just been emptied - soon another wounded man will be brought in to replace the dead one.

\- "Go get some sleep, will you. You worked hard. You're so tired you'll make yourself sick if you keep up with this pace."

Merlin shakes his head and wipes the tears overflowing on his cheeks, silently. He does not even know _why_ he is crying.

\- "They're waiting for me ..."

Gaius raises his eyebrow.

\- "_You_ are waiting for them", he corrects. "I know. But you won't be very useful if you're still in this state when Arthur comes back. Look, I ..."

A sudden commotion at the hospital gates cuts his line and Merlin jumps on his feet when he sees it is the king that Sir Leon and Sir Elyan are supporting in.

\- "Arthur!"

He rushes through the rows of pallets but freezes, not daring to touch the battered and bloodstained armor when he sees that his friend is awake, just too exhausted to stand on his own. The king offers him a weary smile and opens his arms.

Merlin runs in them immediately.

\- "You're safe!"

\- "I am", breathes the king, hugging him tight. "I am. So is the citadel."

Dawn is slithering in through a basement window, like a shimmering veil.

Camelot is littered with corpses and rubble, but the walls held up.

They earned one more day.

* * *

_**TBC**_


	35. For those we love

** FOR THOSE WE LOVE**

* * *

It is the last day of the world.

Tonight, they will fight their fourth battle and if no one comes at dawn, they will die.

Odin has launched corpses over the walls and proclaimed that he would spare no one if the king did not surrender himself.

Arthur wavered for a moment, then decided not to accept. The word of Cornwall has no value: his sacrifice would not guarantee the lives of the queen, the princess and the thousands of people holed up in the caves.

No, it is better to fight until the end. There is still a chance that Gwaine and Number Four accomplished their mission, and that Mercia and Essetir will come to rescue their ally, a chance for the whole situation to be overturned.

_One last chance._

_And if they are to die, then be it sword in hand._

He was not expecting it, but the people agreed with his decision. Some have heard about Odin's proposal and many came to beg Arthur not to sacrifice himself.

The people of Camelot know their ruler: they have faith in him. The promises of the enemy sound like threats to the peasants and nobles who in ten years have seen their country change and their borders extend under the strong and kind leadership of Arthur Pendragon.

_Now that they have tasted this freedom, they do not want another king._

_Even if it means they need to protect this land with their own hands._

The soldiers handed out spears and chainmail coats. To those who could not wield a sword were given pitchforks, axes, quarterstaffs. The knights divided the men into groups according to their age and experience.

The youngest is just over twelve springs, the oldest has seen more than seventy winters. They are blacksmiths, farmers, millers, merchants, shoemakers, butchers. There is fear in their eyes, but also a strong will to survive. Some women have insisted on joining them: widows who have nothing to lose, bold girls who wish to protect their families, Percival's wife, the cook.

Arthur agreed, despite the disapproving glares of his advisors and of several officers: he knows that nothing gives more strength than supporting a good cause, and that they will need as many volunteers as they can find.

In the large room with massive carved pillars, all is quiet now.

The afternoon is nearing its end. A sandy sunbeam streams over the stone in which stands the sword of legend. Glistening dust particles are drizzling down from the hole in the ceiling.

The drums are beating, tirelessly, outside, a dull sound echoing in the caves like the thumping of a heart.

Somewhere in a corner, a minstrel gently plucks the strings of his instrument and his ethereal voice rises gently like a bird flying over the refugees.

_\- "__Do you hear the dragon's breath blowing upon our land?"_

Arthur strolls in the halls, stops by people to smile, give a few words of encouragement, a shoulder pat – and his heart aches at seeing how courageous yet resigned they are.

An old peasant takes in his gnarled hands the crooked fingers of a very old woman whose hair is as white as angel threads.

Gaze lost in a dream, a potter with a face mottled by smallpox scars smokes his birch pipe. Next to him, a guard in red and gold livery bounces dices in his palm, deep in thought.

Under the tearful eyes of his wife and the stares of the two little girls with dark frizzy curls huddled in her skirts, Sir Elyan checks the straps of the steel chest plate that will protect his son and the thirteen years old boy holds himself very straight. His helmet is too big for him.

The lone voice of the minstrel quietly lulls them all.

_\- "...over the hills, under the sky, the white towers are burning high..."_

Percival, sitting cross-legged, stopped a moment sharpening of his sword to gaze lovingly at his tiny wife who brushes the silky hair falling on her shoulders like a golden mantle. She puckers her eyebrows as she twists tight her heavy braids and ties them so she will not be bothered by them during the fighting.

The candle maker who gave birth yesterday cradles her swaddled baby, whispering promises. A raspberry drill seeped out of her turban. A silent tear runs down her cheek.

Georges is shining his boots carefully, as if it were the most important thing in the world at that precise moment. A quiff rolled up in his perfectly combed red hair. His freckles stand out even more than usual on his pale face.

_\- "... I pledge to queen so wise, to king so fair ..."_

Will rattles as he buckles his belt. Nobody makes sense of what he is saying, with that piece of dried meat he is chewing. The young squire littered the place with his belongings like a sulky teenager. He is full of energy, but there is dread hidden deep in his petulant blue eyes.

A warrior with his brown hair pulled in a ponytail is sitting with two of his children on his lap, a little girl about ten years old leaning against his forearm. He speaks to them and his wife, who is knitting on a stool, smiles at him through her snuffles.

_\- "... a friend with whom a swig of mead I want to share..."_

Tyr, the groom with a moon face and a black goatee, is trying to fit his pudgy belly in a too narrow armor. He has not eaten, his stomach all topsy-turvy, and keeps casting timorous glances around him, pursing his lips to gather his courage.

Geoffrey of Monmouth is sitting at a table, wrapped in his long brown robes. He raises his hoary head from time to time, soaking a long goose quill in the inkwell. Solemn, he is writing with respectful emotion the History that is happening before his eyes, today, tonight.

The lament of the minstrel is fliting under the stone arches.

_\- "... I flipped a coin into the stars and to the road I went ahead..."_

With a leather string and some of the white flowers growing in the stone walls, a lass made a wedding wreath. Hanging on the arm of her fiancé, wearing a simple pink cotton dress on which is still tied her apron, she stands in front of her village elder to pronounce her vows.

A blanket modestly draped around his muscular and hard body, his hands on his knees and his Venetian curls messed up by the gauze across his face, Sir Leon is waiting for the Dolma to finish mending his shirt. He is chatting animatedly, inexhaustible about his three daughters, so grateful they are safe in the countryside with their mother. The nurse listens patiently while pulling her needle.

_\- "... once there was a maiden whose name meant home..."_

Guinevere, dressed a white linen shirt and a vest lined with the shimmering fur of a hare, goes through the basic moves with her sword. The blade throws glitters in her so dark curly hair and glints on her swarthy satin skin as she bends her thigh and reaches out, spins with strength and flexibility. Albion imitates her, graceful like a dragonfly, with her tiny dagger. Fluffy blond tendrils are grazing her nape and the embroidered collar of her blue tunic as she dances lightly around her adoptive mother. Her amber eyes, filled with admiration, do not lose a single move of the courageous and so beautiful woman.

_\- "...come fire and thunder, to death and to glory, for Albion ..."_

A barber is delicately sliding his tools in the leather case worn by the years. A cooper brushes his calloused palm on the dusty casks arranged along the wall, then fills tankards with sparkling cider. He hands around this last round of drinks on a nod of assent from the Steward, helped by the innkeeper of the _Rising Sun_ and waitresses who are trying hard to be cheerful.

A gaunt man with a scraggly chin and disheveled yellowish hair makes puppets in tatty costumes dance for the dazzled eyes of a small boy shoving a finger in his nose and a little girl who suckles her thumb, cocking her head, grapes of brown curls falling on her chubby cheeks.

_\- "... I'll keep fighting until I see the shores of Avalon ..."_

Gaius is sitting at the end of a bench on which is sprawled Merlin. The old physician gently strokes the pale face of his sleeping grandson and, from time to time, heaves a long sigh. His eyes clouded by age do not really see the underground hall. He walks in his memories, accompanied by his regrets, unable to leave the past aside, amazed by the gift he did not deserve and that was given to him by a son he betrayed and a young woman he has never met ...

\- "Gaius?"

The old man lifts his weary head.

\- "Sire. What can I do for you?"

Arthur squats down, shaking his chin.

\- "Nothing", he says. "I just wanted to make sure you had everything you needed."

He pushes back a black lock on his manservant's forehead, smiles involuntarily, his arms crossed on his thighs.

\- "He's asleep", he mumbles. "Tonight we fight to death and him, he's _sleeping_ like a baby ... show me a man more at peace with his conscience, I won't believe you. He really _is_ the bravest of us all .. . "

Gaius nods. He does not want to worry the king and so does not tell him that Merlin threw up the little he had eaten today, exhausted and miserable after the battle they had to fight all night in the hospital to save the severely burned patients.

It is one thing to treat the usual injuries, it is another to see coming in these charred bodies, to bear with the sobs of men usually accustomed to grit their teeth when their wounds are stitched up.

Merlin had stopped crying by the end of the night. His angular features had turned bitter, drained, numbed, and Gaius felt sick watching him.

_No child should have to live through this, to see his innocence snatched away by this war that breaks adults - and Merlin, who does not understand the wickedness of humanity, more than anyone._

Arthur gets up, squeezes the court physician's shoulder.

\- "When he wakes up, tell him I need him to help me put on my armor."

The old man grabs his sleeve, almost involuntarily.

\- "Sire ... don't let him go to the city walls, please. It's not his place, he ..."

\- "That's what he wants, Gaius", gently interrupts the king, freeing his arm. "That's the last thing I can do for him. Let him fight by my side as an equal - like a brother. Show him that I believe in him. Allow him to die with me."

Something throttles Gaius and his wrinkled jowls quivers. His glossed old eyes beg the king.

\- "Don't let him die", he chokes. "Please, sire. Don't let him be taken from me ... you've got Guinevere and Albion, but he's all I have left ... if something happened to him ... if he was to come back _like that day _... I could never forgive myself... "

Arthur turns his head to hide his emotion.

\- "What this battle will take away, Gaius, it'll be no one's fault", he replies hoarsely. "But I _promise_ you, I _will_ protect him as long as there's still a breath of life in me."

He walks off quickly, inhaling deeply several times, helps a hunched granny in rags to go back to her stool by the hearth, chats a few minutes with two knights, glances at the sun shower in the middle of the hall.

The light is dimming and insects are fluttering around in a rustle, scattering the shiny dust grains around the hilt of the sword drawn into the rock.

The song of the minstrel is over.

It will soon be night.

He feels someone's gaze drilling in his back and spins on his heels. He smiles, discovering Mordred huddled in a pile of blankets as if he were cold. He comes to his nephew, sits at the foot of a wide pillar next to him.

\- "Hello there", he says gently. "What are you doing hiding in here?

\- "I'm not hiding", retorts the boy curtly.

His cheeks are soiled, his eyes red-rimmed and puffy, he is nibbling his lower lip and his clothes give off a rancid smell.

\- "I wish Sir Gwaine were here", Mordred mutters.

Arthur's heart clenches.

\- "I'm sorry ..." he whispers.

The boy raises a thin black eyebrow and his eerie blue eyes reflect his puzzlement.

\- "Why?"

The king heaves a sigh.

\- "For everything. The siege, the battles, the fear you must feel ... you shouldn't have to live through this all. I thought it'd be good for Morgana to come home ... and now I'm just throwing her again in the midst of a war. My poor sister ..."

Mordred stares at him silently for a while.

\- "You do love her, actually", he states suddenly.

Arthur gasps.

\- "_Of course_!"

\- "But you beheaded my Aunt Morgause."

The king frowns.

\- "Yes, because she murdered our father and caused Camelot's ruin. I did not condemn her to death because I wanted to, but because it was the only solution. She was ruthless and sought only to cause more destruction. And she was poisoning Morgana's mind. It was the only way to stop her."

\- "_Not because__ you wanted to_", the child repeats absently.

\- "No indeed", confirms Arthur quietly.

Mordred slowly nods.

\- "You are a good king", he says abruptly.

\- "Thank you", replies his uncle, a bit stunned.

He smiles, leans over and ruffles the boy's clammy mop of hair.

\- "And _you_'re very brave. I'm glad I got to meet you, young man."

In Mordred's pale blue eyes flutters something like the wings of a bird.

\- "It'll be an honor to fight at your side, Sire", he says awkwardly, sitting up.

Arthur clasps arms with him.

\- "It is an honor for me too."

In the silence that follows, the king is suddenly pulled out of his thoughts by the angry squawking of Morgana. He quickly gets up and hastens towards the hubbub with Mordred in tow, cutting through the crowd to find out what is happening.

\- "They took my book!" screams his sister, her eyes blazing.

\- "That ain't true, Your Maj'sty!" protests the fat woman in front of her, her fists on her large hips, cheeks red with anger under her shabby bonnet. "I ain't eve' learnt to read, why'd I do som'thing like that?"

\- "I demand you to return it at once, you filthy thief!"

\- "Now, now, calm down, both of you", calls the king. Then he turns to Morgana who is standing on tiptoe, her face convulsed with rage. "What book are you talking about, my lady?"

Someone tugs at his sleeve.

\- "That one, Sire".

He looks down, finds there Albion biting her lips, looking terribly ashamed, a tattered book in her arms.

\- "Mine!" squeals Morgana, rushing to her and snatching it away.

She checks it feverishly, and then drops to her knees in front of the little girl, and holds out a delicate hand, like a beggar.

\- "Why did you take it, Morgause?" she moans reproachfully. "Oh, how cruel of you ..."

Albion glances furtively at her father who did not move, then approaches her aunt, fidgeting with the hem of her tunic.

\- "I'm sorry", she stammers, tears welling up in her eyes. "I just wanted ... I'm sorry... I wanted to show it to Mother ..."

Guinevere makes her way through the crowd and her eyes jump from her upset husband, to Mordred who glares at his cousin, and finally onto the bystanders around them that are murmuring.

\- "Dismiss, all of you', she orders. "Audrey, I'm sorry you were wrongly accused. It is a terrible misunderstanding and I hope you will forgive the princess."

The fat woman leaves, wiping her sweaty hands on her apron, grumbling something about princesses that should be locked up.

Mordred clenches his fists but Arthur puts a hand on his shoulder to soothe him, before getting on one knee and smiling at his sister.

\- "I'm very sorry we gave you a fright, Morgana", he coaxes. "What's that book? Why is it so important to you? I've never seen it before… Was it a gift from a friend of yours?"

Albion leans on her father's shoulder and speaks in his ear in the shell of her hand.

\- "It is a gift from her _true love_", she whispers. "But don't tell anyone."

Guinevere crouches in front of the little girl and shakes her head reproachfully.

\- "_Albion_. A secret _should remain a secret_. You betray someone's trust when you repeat it."

The child blushes and her face crumbles.

\- "I'm sorry", she breathes.

\- "It's not me you owe an apology", says the queen sternly. "You took something that did not belong to you without asking permission and you caused pain doing so. Ask forgiveness to the person you have offended."

Mordred nods furiously and Arthur seems to approve of his wife's words as he helps Morgana up.

Albion is devastated at his disappointment - and even sadder that she hurt her strange aunt.

\- "I'm _so_ sorry, my lady", she chokes, her heart swollen and aching. "I didn't mean to make you cry. I shouldn't have taken it."

Morgana does not seem to hear. She is humming softly, brushing the cover of the old book.

Arthur, dismayed, waves off Albion, not realizing she hoped for a look from him, something that would have told her the king was no longer crossed with her.

The little girl grits her teeth and tears bead at the corner of her eyes. She glowers at Mordred who is still standing next to the King, then flees without a word.

Guinevere has taken the arm of the young woman.

\- "Come, my lady", she urges affectionately. "You should get some rest. There will certainly be a lot to do tonight and I'm sure you will want to make yourself useful. I _know_ you never hesitate to take care of the poor and wounded."

\- "Are we plagued again by a pestilence, Guinevere?" Morgana absently inquires.

Arthur runs a weary hand over his face and is startled when his sister suddenly stops and turns around.

\- "Where's Lord Agravaine?" she demands. Then she shudders and mumbles: "Does he _know_? Has he seen the book?"

\- "No", coldly answers Mordred. "He doesn't know and he won't come to take it away from you either. He's dead."

Arthur stares at him in bewilderment.

\- "He's _dead_? What do you mean? W-why was there no report of that? I thought he was still on the city walls ..."

\- "He never went there", cuts in the child. "He died yesterday. I killed him."

Guinevere clasps her hands over her mouth in horror and a chill runs down Arthur's spine.

\- You _killed_ him? he repeats stupidly. "What do you mean? _Where_ is he?"

\- "In a hole, where he belongs", says calmly the boy, not lowering his eerie blue eyes. "He was going to betray us all. _It was the only__ way to stop him_."

Aghast, the king gulps, slapped in the face by his very own words.

\- "He's dead?" Morgana echoes dully.

She takes a few steps, wringing her hands. Her quartz eyes mist up, then tears spill on her pale cheeks as a smirk contorts her delicate lips.

\- "It's over, Mother", pleads her son. "You are free."

Morgana hiccups.

Then she starts laughing, a crystalline sound awakening memories Arthur wanted to forget.

\- "It's over", repeats the young woman in a light, musical voice.

Then she bursts in sobs.

\- "Oh, my lord Agravaine ... bring him back to me ..."

Mordred shakes his head, teeth grinded, merciless, but does try to get away when his mother grabs his shoulders and croons, yells, orders him to obey. Then he simply stares at her with empty eyes when she drops on the ground like a weeping child, her black gown spread around her, giggling through her tears, cradling the book in her arms.

\- "It's over, over ..."

Arthur staggers, gagging.

_He suddenly understood._

_He suddenly understood_ everything_._

He meets Guinevere's hollow and dark gaze, and he knows that she knows too.

He stiffens, throws a circular glance. Oh, people are looking at them, indeed, but no one was close enough to hear. They will assume it was only a crisis of "her loony highness" as he knows very well it is how they nickname his sister in the castle's hallways and the streets of Camelot.

He swallows back his nausea, turns to Mordred who is waiting impassively.

\- "Come on", he orders. "Show me where he is."

Guinevere is already taking care of Morgana.

Arthur inhales deeply and clenches his fists, not knowing how much he looks like his daughter at that very moment, as he decides not to be engulfed by grief and outrage.

The sun has disappeared and the pale evening light is falling on the sword surrounded by darkness and gray moths.

* * *

oOoOoOo

* * *

At the ridge of Kemeray, snowflakes fuzzy like feathers, are speckling the cairn erected by Number Four on the bed of freshly overturned earth.

The fire is still burning at the top of the tower, but the footprints going away will soon be completely erased by the gusts of icy wind.

* * *

oOoOoOo

* * *

The refugees have lit candles everywhere.

People are gravely waiting for the moment to go up to the castle.

Some are holding hands, other intertwined their fingers with their wives' or carry their children in their arms. No one taunts, no one rambles, no one dares say farewell out loud, but silent tears are streaming down on many faces.

Arthur is putting on his armor. When Merlin wants to help him, he gently stops him.

\- "Not today", he says.

The manservant looks at him, somewhat surprised, then grins to the tip of his protruding ears when Arthur picks up a vambrace from a spare armor and slides it on his friend's arm.

\- "Put on your own, Merlin."

The two men help each other to buckle the straps, then stare at each other, once ready.

\- "You almost look like a proper knight", chuckles the king.

\- "You still have a long way to go before you're as good as a servant", Merlin quips, pulling on his too tight chainmail collar.

Arthur laughs a bit, then frowns.

\- "You're not scared, Merlin?" he asks almost shyly.

\- "Oh, I am, Arthur. Maybe more than you", answers his servant with a wink. Then he grows very serious: "But we'll be fine. I know we will. I _believe_ in you."

His friend shakes his head, unable to stand the blind adoration he reads in the cobalt orbs.

He contemplates the people who seem to be holding a long vigil, with hundreds of candles.

\- "I wish I could do something for them", he whispers, lowering his gaze. "I wish I had _real hope_ to give them, not just the promise they will die doing what's right. But I don't. If our allies do not come tomorrow, Camelot will fall at dawn. It'd take a miracle to save us ... "

\- "A miracle, you have one on hand", Merlin says in a funny voice.

\- "What are you talking about, again?" Arthur scowls, turning to him. He frowns briefly when he glimpses the wince on his servant's face. "You all right?"

\- "My head hurts", groans Merlin, massaging his temples.

The king nods.

\- "I know. Me too. It's the drums."

He puts his iron gloved hand on his friend's shoulder.

\- "Come. I need to talk to them."

He makes his way through the crowd, walks up to the sword of legend and clears his throat once he is standing by the stone.

\- "Tonight… we do battle", he starts, looking over the frightened civilians and the resigned soldiers, on his terrified people determined to be brave.

He wishes he could breathe in them Merlin's faith, but he can hardly believe it himself, so he draws from what he has of honesty, courage and love for them.

\- "Tonight we end this war, we end a war as old as the land itself. War against tyranny, greed, and spite. Not all will greet dawn. Some will live, some will die. But each and every one of you fights with honour, and with pride. Look around. In this circle, we're all equals."

A murmur stirs the crowd, like a ripple on a lake. He straightens up, tries to instill them his strength, born from the gratitude he feels towards them.

They never tried to change kings. They have accepted him as he was, a clumsy and selfish prince, and gave him the opportunity to prove he was worth their trust.

\- "You're not fighting because someone's ordering you to, you're fighting for so much more than that. You fight for your homes. You fight for your family. You fight for your friends. You fight for the right to grow crops in peace. You fight for everyone to have the right to stand on this land, no matter where they're from or what they look like."

He is trembling, but he does not notice it.

Inside him burns a flame, a deep conviction, rooted like an oak, as if it had been there since immemorial times. His voice vibrates in the large underground hall - strong, warm, loving.

\- "For not only do we fight for our lives, but we fight for our future. The future of Camelot. The future of the united kingdoms. The future of our children. And when you're old and grey, you'll look back on this day, and you'll know you earned the right to live every day in between!"

His hand goes to the sword sheathed at his side, but a voice calls out.

\- "Excalibur, Sire!"

And hundreds of others resound too.

\- "Long live the king!"

\- "The Once and Future King!"

\- "Excalibur! Excalibur!"

Arthur shivers, drenched in sweat. In the moonlight shrouding the stone, like the silky hair of a fairy, the sword is waiting, scintillating.

He hesitates.

_Won't this__ ruin all his efforts? This unity of hearts he can feel right now, like a tide flowing in the caves, won't it disappear, evaporate when he fails to remove the symbolic piece of scrap from the rock?_

Mordred's eerie blue orbs pierce him.

_"__No. It won't. It is _you_ they will follow__ you, sire. It is what you _said_ that changed everything__."_

The words echo in him as clearly as if he heard them.

_Suddenly__ he knows who shouted first._

He turns his head and sees the deeply moved faces of Percival and Sir Leon, the approving nods of Gaius and the Dolma, Guinevere's hazel irises flickering with love, the marveled amber eyes of Albion, and the gaze of Morgana, amazed and simple as that of a child who awakens from a long nightmare.

The hall around them abuzz with hope.

So he grabs the hilt of the sword. He breathes in and out, shuts his eyes for a while, then opens them again.

And smiles.

Merlin is here, among the others - and the only one with him, as if they were alone at the end of all things.

_"I believe__ in you. I've always believed in you."_

Arthur tightens his fingers around the gold inlaid hilt and lifts his arm, slowly, as if to greet the crowd in front of him, his sapphire eyes never leaving Merlin.

There's magic in the cobalt orbs shaded by dark eyelashes.

_Eternal,__ indestructible, spontaneous magic._

_A__ magic called faith, love, trust, total surrender._

_A tremendous strength,__ light and fragile like a heart beat._

Maybe it is that - maybe it is just the fact that instead of pulling abruptly, he slid the blade tilting it slightly – maybe it is the Pendragon seal etched in his gauntlet which fitted perfectly the finely worked hilt.

_Perhaps__ none of this._

_Maybe just__ a miracle._

_Because miracles__ can't be explained, they are given, that's all._

The sword leaves the stone in a soft rustling and a moonbeam glimmers along the blade, dazzling, in the silence.

Arthur looks at it, weights it, faces it and sees his reflection in the steel.

_He__ is only a man._

_But he__ is king._

_It is his__ destiny and his duty to guide them - to death or to glory._

So he points Excalibur to the sky and shouts from the bottom of his lungs.

\- "For Camelot! For those we love!"

All voices join his, like the fury of an ocean.

\- "FOR THOSE WE LOVE!"

And at that moment, the dragon roars, calling them to the battle with a long blowing of horn.

It is time.

The last battle will begin.

* * *

_**TBC**_

* * *

_**Next chapter will be the one before last...**_


	36. Women & Girls, Mothers & Sisters

**WOMEN &amp; GIRLS, MOTHERS &amp; SISTERS  
**

* * *

_He is standing in the snow, alone._

_Footsteps crisp behind him, someone puts a hand on his shoulder. He turns round, glimpses brown hair swept across a grinning face with a shaggy beard._

\- "MERLIN!"

Arthur's high pitched voice jerks him awake and he blinks, lost and dazed.

He does not know where he is, or why.

His ears suddenly open and the din of the battle rushes in, deafening, while the crackling flames blaze over the palisades in the night, erasing any trace of the white mountains he was dreaming of. Men are fighting around him; swords are clashing; people are belching in pain and rage, everywhere.

_Ah. Right. Camelot is besieged and he must watch over Arthur._

He sways on his long legs, reaches out to lean against the stone wall, strangely cold in the furnace.

\- "Wake up, for heaven's sake!" the king roars, breathless, grabbing his shoulder. "If you can't stay focused, you'll get yourself killed! Merlin! _Mer_lin, are you listening? You're too tired, go back to the caves!"

The servant immediately shakes his head to protest, but his vision blurs again. His head is throbbing, he feels like he is going to faint.

\- "_Merlin_!" Arthur yells in his ear. "That's an order! Go back to the hospital!"

The blue eyes plead, but the king does not yield. He was too spooked on seeing his friend remain perfectly still, apathetic, while a hail of fireballs and arrows was strafing the ramparts.

\- "Now, _shift_! You'll be more useful to me down there, I swear!"

Merlin hobbles down the stairs through the soldiers and warriors, after a last look at his master, and Arthur sees him disappear in the dark gray fog with a heavy heart.

_Gone are the rhetoric, heroic resolutions. At this point, he is ready to do anything to save those he loves, even betray the promises he made to them. He will not let Merlin die. Never._

Another explosion scorches up the palisades and Arthur, face bathed in sweat, brow smeared by tallow, clenches his hand on his sword and returns to the fight.

The night is stifling and all the stars have been swallowed by the thick black smoke billowing over the walls.

The drawbridge was taken, hours ago.

Boulders shatter the towers, strewing rubble and dust all over the place. Arrows tear up the curtains, notch in the walls. From time to time, a window cracks and breaks, and scintillating glass bits shower the fighters. The service quarters are burning despite the efforts of some carrying buckets of water, sheltering under shields and boards.

The guards courtyard is littered with dead and wounded and the battle rages there too.

Merlin makes his way amidst the combatants, using both his rangy limbs and his sword. Lips pursed, his angular chin proudly held up and his big ears popping from under his too small helmet, he strikes relentlessly the yellow and black uniforms. His lanky figure avoids the blows of enemies by mere luck maybe, but it is not clumsily that he attacks them.

Gwaine made sure of it, Merlin knows how to handle a sword, almost as well as a knight.

\- "On me!"

Sir Leon's voice dominates the tumult and the servant rushes in the direction of the stables where another fire is glowing. The charred beams threaten to collapse on the horses neighing in terror, rearing, pulling on their ropes. Sparks crackle in an unbreathable red murk. Tyr, the groom who has round cheeks lined with a black beard, gawks falling to his knees and dropping his pitchfork, his hands pressed on the wound in his plump belly. Merlin gets rid of the soldier who killed him, but does not have time to stop: Sir Leon is alone to contain a group of men at one of the accesses to the citadel.

Others saw the danger and rush to help. Among them is Will, the rebellious young squire, puffing and whirling his blade in the air in a not so effective way, but who does not hesitate to hurl onto the enemy, screaming and swearing.

\- "To the gates, they need reinforcement!" Sir Leon orders when they have killed the soldiers who had spotted this weakness and have left the stables ceiling crumble in front of the service entrance.

Merlin frees the horses and Will slaps their rumps to disperse them in the courtyard, then they both hurry to the great white arch. Moans and bawls are wracking the night, arms are stretching for help in the orange glow of the flames in the nightmarish set of broken barricades.

Merlin hears the hissing arrow and throws himself to the ground, but a cry of pain hatches next to him.

\- "Will!"

Sir Leon slows down, but the tottering squire's urges him to keep going.

\- "The gates, sir!"

Will falls to one knee, pitches forward and collapses, fingers clutching the arrow protruding from his chest. Merlin gets up and crawls up to him, pulls him under an overturned cart while the knight disappears in the haze of smoke and dust toward the hammering shaking the castle.

The servant cradles the squire who is sputtering a reddish foam.

\- "I ... I ... I never ... thought I-I'd... ... be fighting – alongside… you ... some day ..."

The teenager arches, tears spilling on his dirty cheeks as he struggles against the pain.

\- "Y ... you're pretty good… with ...a sword - it hurts ... oh, _gods_ \- Merlin ... it... _hurts_ ..."

He coughs and moans, his nails sinking into the arms of the young man who holds him like a little brother.

\- "If that kid ... Mordred... makes it out… alive… tell him ...it's worth it... ... living in Camelot ..."

He pants, his eyes are becoming glassy.

\- "I… was glad… t-to meet him … tell him ... it's not ... being b-bastards ... that defines us ... "

His body slumps and Merlin, heart broken, closes his eyelids respectfully, before laying him carefully on the cobblestones. Then he grabs his sword and hastens again to the main courtyard.

Percival carries lengths of timber in the havoc of battle, Sir Leon is among those who defend the group massed behind the gates, nailing boards and wedging iron bars to consolidate them. If they are smashed, most of the troops will enter the castle and the battle might end there, when dawn is still far.

The walls vibrate at every blow of the battering ram and the arms of the workers are painful, their muscles knotted by the shock wave. Percival's tiny wife is among them, busy handing nails and hammers, her short dagger at the girdle of her cerulean tunic, encouraging them relentlessly.

Merlin limps across the square, climbs up the wide stairs. He turns before going into the citadel, looks back and it is then that it happens.

Suddenly the world seems to slow down.

In the courtyard blued by the night, a huge flame swells up and the wooden gates splinter as a storm of heat and destruction engulfs the white arch.

Percival's wife turns to him and gives him a last loving smile for a short moment suspended in time.

Then all sounds come back at once and the fragile body of the young woman is flung into the air, with dozens of others who worked by her side. Her braids unfurl like a sail of gold silk - and she crashes on the courtyard cobblestones like a broken puppet, under the horrified eyes of her husband.

Merlin staggers as the battering ram's blazing mouth bursts into the breach with hundreds of soldiers. He shakes his head to get rid of the dizziness. His stomach is churning, but he wipes resolutely the blood and tears trickling down his neck and runs down the stairs leading to the vaults with only one idea in mind: warn Guinevere.

_They're coming!_

He barges into the hospital where Gaius is pulling a sheet over Sir Elyan's still face. Next to the table, the knight's son is wrenched by sobs, his head hanging low and his hands clutching his dead father's sword.

\- "They'll be here any minute! Lock the doors! Don't let anyone in!"

Georges shares a quick glance with his rival, then lets him out before pulling the heavy gates of the vault and locking them. Then, his brow flooded by a cold sweat, he picks up a mace and prepares to hold the fort, soon joined by a few men able to stand up, their arms in slings or a bandage on their heads.

\- "Don't make such a face, Bra_a_ssy Boy. One might believe you're scared", sneers a grating voice.

The perfect servant, whose armpits soaked his shirt, shots a furious glance at the Dolma who is now standing beside him, holding a quarterstaff.

The nurse looks fierce and ridiculous, with the graying blond strands threading out of her wimple and her apron tied up under her sagging breasts, her protruding chin and slightly hunchbacked figure dressed in black.

\- "Just a look at you and they'll run away screaming", Georges retorts, frowning under his red bob of hair. "It will be a crushing victory."

The woman narrows her lemon green eyes and her lips curl up into an amused smile, showing her bad teeth.

\- "I've always been good a_a_t playing roles of witches with bubbling cauldrons", she smirks. "Let's see wha_a_t I'm worth in real life. Proba_a_bly not much, I guess."

Gaius comes to join them in heavy and hesitant footsteps, his gnarled fingers wrapped around a spear.

\- "Don't say that", he mutters, throwing back the white hair falling on his wrinkled face. "You _are_ important. Each of us is."

\- "So don't get any stupid ideas, paunchy old owl", she snorts. "No sacrifice. We all make it."

Georges smacks his lips.

\- "There's going to be a lot of cleaning up to do tomorrow", he sighs gloomily.

* * *

oOoOoOo

* * *

Downstairs, the last explosion shook the walls and cries of fear stirred the crowd of women and children holed up in the caves.

Guinevere wipes one after the other her clammy palms on her thighs and clasps again her sword with both hands. Her hazel eyes are watching anxiously the narrow stairs coming down to the vaults.

Merlin is standing behind her with Mordred whose eerie blue eyes seem to glow in the dark.

Clamors and metal clashes resound above.

_They are closing in._

Under the glittering black stone ceiling, the refugees are huddled, terrified. A lady presses her lips on the forehead of the toddler she holds in her arms. An old lancer kisses an amulet then slips it back into his tunic.

The staircase suddenly illuminates and shadows dance on the walls, as if demons were spurting from the stones. With a battered scrap din, a dead knight tumbles down the steps.

Then Odin's soldiers barge into the vaults like a howling tide.

Everyone scatters away screaming and nothing anymore is organized, beautiful or making any sense.

Guinevere fights like a fury, as if she could protect everyone, but she cannot.

Mercilessly, the men in yellow indiscriminately massacre those trying to resist and those falling to their knees to beg.

Her legs still weak from her recent delivery, the candle maker stands in front of her baby and a soldier pierces her with his sword. She collapses and the baby begins to wail shrilly, while his mother's blood pools on the dark ground and soaks his swaddling clothes.

An old man tries in vain to defend a small granny and falls without a cry under the heavy blows of the enemy.

The minstrel is slumped over the stone in which was sheathed the sword of legend and crimson drops are dripping from the rock on the broken instrument at his feet.

Mordred wipes the blood streaking down his forehead, a little dazed. There is no trace of the eleven years old child on his hardened, spoiled milk white face.

More soldiers keep coming and Guinevere, desperate, pushes deep in her brain the idea that there is _nobody_ to stop them, up there.

_Are Arthur__ and the others dead?_

_No.__ No, no, no._

_There were__ thousands of men under the city walls, it's just normal they can't prevent them all from going down to the vaults ..._

Arthur is still alive. She knows it, deep in her heart, like the gentle and warm presence of a bird nestled in her chest.

_Yes, but__ she did not feel a thing when Lancelot died so far from Camelot, so maybe it is her imagination, a stupid trick she plays with herself to maintain her courage, to give herself strength to continue to fight._

She bites her lips and keeps raising her sword and shouting.

The hare fur lining her vest is engorged with blood and sweat, the cream linen of her sleeves has turned pinkish, her long dark hair is entangled and there is a gash across her chestnut satin cheek.

\- "Guinevere!"

She spins on her heels, looking for the voice.

Merlin waves at her from the back of the great hall and it takes her a few seconds of exhausted stupor to understand what he means.

_They must flee._

Get out of the underground room, scatter in the corridors of the castle, play on a field they know to escape their tormentors. They were hiding in the caves for protection from the hail of fireballs and arrows, but it does not matter now.

_They can die holed up in here or die seeing the sun rise over the white towers of Camelot ..._

She rips off one of her gloves and sticks two fingers into her mouth to whistle sharply.

The leaders she has designated pass around the signal and the fights change imperceptibly to facilitate the escape of the weakest.

Guinevere hustles up women and children through the hole in which had slipped Albion, then guides them to the stairs. In the maze of the vaults, panting and frowning, she only stops to lash at the soldiers bumping in their way.

Merlin follows her, holding Albion's hand, and behind him are Morgana and Mordred who watches their back.

When they straggle to the top, the queen gasps at the apocalyptic scene that appears in front of their eyes. The castle is burning in the night, shiny pieces of glass are shimmering like stars in the black rubble, death and fighting are everywhere, red capes twirling and strangled groans, spears thrusted in corpses, curtains devoured by fire, broken tiles, overturned furniture in the hallways filled with smoke and blood dribbling down the immaculate stairs.

Arthur is in the courtyard with a hundred knights and fights like a madman, the glint of flames dancing on his armor, his blond hair tousled, his face tensed, handsome, terrifying and majestic - the once and future king, her friend and her husband.

Guinevere's heart leaps in relief and she smiles despite everything for a second.

_He is alive._

Her courage comes back, she turns and disperses the people who followed her.

_May everyone survive as they can until morning._

Merlin dashes down the stairs, forgetting her, wielding his sword to protect the king. The young woman spots a service corridor and quickly calculates that it will lead them to the bell tower.

_If she could ..._

A piercing scream interrupts the course of her thoughts.

Standing on the doorstep, Albion contemplates the courtyard, paralyzed. Her blond fluffy curls halo her horrified little face. Her amber eyes widening, her chin trembling, she is watching the war ravaging her childhood world - her father killing with no mercy.

She holds in one hand her tiny dagger and in the other her teddy bear.

The night wind plays with the hem of her blue woolen tunic.

She wants to be the brave princess who bears the name of a land and of a dream. She wants to be as strong as the king, honor him, make him proud, fight like a lion and defend the people she will someday rule over.

_But she's only seven._

She is just a little girl with a wobbly baby tooth, who believes in fairy tales and loves to dress in pink silk, who is missing her cat and is afraid of thunder.

So she drops the dagger that clatters to the ground and hugs dearly her teddy bear, frozen as soldiers are pouncing over to her.

\- "_Mummy_!" she yowls, big bright tears brimming on her chubby cheeks. "Mummy! Mummy, come save me!"

Guinevere shudders and slashes her way through, swoops up the child and settles her on her hip while retreating.

Albion nuzzles the young woman's shoulder, hiding her fear in the sweet smell of the queen's skin, tying her little arms around the neck of her stepmother.

\- "Mummy, mummy, mummy", she sobs.

\- "I'm here", whispers Guinevere in the clamor of the battle. "I'm here, you're safe ..."

Mordred jumped in front of her to protect them and now pushes her in the service corridor, hushing forward Morgana who casts a bewildered look on the blazing castle.

They run down the hallway, avoiding debris, climb panting the spiral staircase. Odin's soldiers are on their heels, like a blood-thirsty beast.

They barricade themselves in the room under the bell, at the top. Guinevere puts Albion down and helps Mordred to lift the heavy iron bar to block the door. Then, out of breath, she looks around.

\- "This won't last long", groans the child with eerie blue eyes.

\- "I know."

She goes to the window, squints to look at the horizon through the dark clouds of smoke stuffing the night, desperately seeking a silver lining in the darkness.

\- "If we could just stay alive until morning ... if dawn could come faster ..."

\- "It won't change a thing", snaps Mordred.

She tidies a loosen curly strand behind her ear, shivers when her sleeve touches the gash in her cheek, smiles sadly.

\- "It will change _everything_, on the contrary", she says. "Tears of the night fade at dawn. Hope always comes when the sun rises. Men are like that, Mordred. They need light to believe in miracles."

He snorts incredulously.

Albion moved closer, tugged at the queen's tunic. She snuffles softly, holds tight her teddy bear.

\- "Really?" she asks in a small trembling voice. "When it's morning, it'll be over?"

Guinevere kneels and smiles at her, strokes her hair and cheeks, gives her an affectionate flick on the nose.

\- "Yes", she promises. "At dawn, it'll be over. There'll be no more fear. There'll be no more meanies, no more screaming. We'll hear the nightingales chirruping in the garden of roses and there'll be dew drops on the leaves for the fairies' breakfast."

Albion snuggles up in her arms and yawns, laying her head on the queen's shoulder.

\- "I wish it'll be dawn already, then ... will Sir Pellinore be there?"

\- "Yes", Guinevere lulls. "Yes. He was sulking, but he'll be hungry and will surely demand a bit of your bacon, purring like a blacksmith's bellows. And your father will scold him, but he'll be the first to give him a piece of buttered bread, as usual."

\- "As usual", sighs the half asleep child.

Guinevere buries her chin in the light blond curls and closes her eyes to hold back the tears welling up in her hazel orbs.

\- "Sleep, my love. Mummy watches over you."

Mordred looks at them, pursing his lips, his sword in his hand. Morgana tilts her head to the side, in the strange silence absorbing the distant clamor of battle, the steel rattling and heavy footsteps going up the stairs, the rustle of the flames consuming Camelot.

It is the darkest hour.

It is a little cold.

The wind comes in as a breath refreshing their foreheads…

Ax blows suddenly hit the door and Albion jerks awake with a sharp cry of terror. She clings to Guinevere but the queen firmly puts her on the ground.

\- "Protect her", she tells Mordred. "I'll be counting on you, knight of Camelot."

The boy nods gravely, grabs his cousin's hand and pushes her behind him.

\- "You have my word, Your Majesty", he answers proudly.

Guinevere smiles, then she goes to stand in front of the door, ready to face the soldiers who will soon barge inside.

She inhales deeply.

_Lancelot, Mithian, Arthur ... lend me your strength ..._

The timber splits, splinters fly, flashes of metal spark in the dark, rough voices call out on the other side.

A tepid drop of sweat slowly trickles down her spine.

Then the door gives way and four men scramble in, panting and grunting like animals. Guinevere knocks out the first, sets back the second and monitors the third while parrying the blows.

The fourth strikes her side, tampering her to the ground when she cries out in pain, unbalanced. She is blinded by sweat and fear, her sword slips out of her clammy hand, she hears Albion shrieking and struggles against the unconsciousness threatening to overcome her.

Long dark curls cascading wildly, a black gown whirling around. A man falls to her right, another is hurtled against the wall.

Guinevere blinks and manages to focus enough to understand what is happening.

_Morgana picked up her sword and she is fighting alone against the soldiers._

A touch of pink tints her discolored lips and her pale cheeks are slightly blushing. Her quartz eyes are glistening and a somewhat ironic laughter bubbles in her throat.

She is dancing.

Nimble and feline, she undulates, dragging her sword like a cutting ribbon in the night, bends and arches, swirls, still smiling wryly and Guinevere remembers the skillful young girl who could disarm Arthur, years ago.

Mordred gapes at his mother, his eyes wide with admiration and amazement.

_She is beautiful, she is young and she is free, at last, from her prison._

_She fights for her son, for the country in which she was born, for the right to die standing._

_She is Morgana, Princess of Camelot, daughter of Uther Pendragon._

Her long black curls are shining in the light of the flames devouring the castle.

When the last man falls, she stands in front of the door with her scarlet dripping sword and wipes her face splattered with blood, looking just like her son.

\- "Not bad for a girl, isn't it?" she chortles, turning to them.

It is a stylish laughter, but her eyes are sparkling with savagery.

Then she chokes, doubles over and collapses.

Mordred rushes towards his mother.

Guinevere crawls toward her, stifling a whimper of pain. Her wound is soaking her shirt and the room is spinning.

\- "Mother", rasps Mordred, not daring to touch her. "Mother, are you hurt? Mother, please ..."

Guinevere drops heavily next to them. She feels the corset, the black satin pleats, seeking for a hitch, and finally finds the injury, on which she crumples the dress.

\- "Morgana", she stutters. "Morgana, come back to your senses. Don't fall asleep. Come on, fight this!"

Her voice breaks.

\- "My lady! _Please_!"

Albion's small hand squeezes her shoulder.

\- "My lady", calls softly the little girl.

Morgana's eyelashes flutter open, her clouded gaze settles on her niece and she smiles.

\- "Morgause ..." she blows.

\- "No", says the little girl gently but firmly. "I'm Albion."

Morgan smiles again. Her hand weakly goes to the child's face and strokes her cheek.

\- "I saved you", she whispers. "Are you proud of me?"

Albion nods gravely.

\- "You didn't need to prove anything", hisses Mordred. "I was there to watch over you, Mother!"

His blue eyes have darkened.

\- "No", soughs the young woman. "It should have been _me_ watching over you... Mordred. All these years ..."

The boy's mouth twitches in an ugly and terribly sad grimace.

\- Don't speak. It'll only hurt you more", he mumbles.

Morgana's silver eyes look at him for a long time, then shift over to Guinevere.

\- "You're there, too", she says thoughtfully.

\- "I'm here, my lady", answers the former maidservant.

Morgana cries in pain as she tries to settle in a more comfortable position. Albion slides her teddy bear under the nape of her aunt, then kneels beside his cousin and takes his hand without saying anything.

He does not seem to notice, tense and furious, staring at his mother.

\- "Guinevere ..."

\- "Yes, my lady?"

\- "Things could have been different, isn't it?"

Guinevere bows her head, a lump in her throat.

For a few moments, in this room littered with debris, at the top of a tower, there are only two young girls who were crowning each other with wreaths of bluebells as they played, who used to giggle and dress up with veils and sequins, who were sharing secrets and hugged when the thunder roared, who loved each other like sisters despite their difference in status.

\- "I hated him", Morgana mutters. "He cried but never said a thing…"

She is weakening, withering like a flower left too long without water.

\- "Guinevere?"

Her voice is but a breath.

\- "Do you think he will open his arms for me?"

Guinevere leans over and kisses the princess' forehead.

\- "I'm sure he will, my lady. Your father is waiting for you. He forgave you long ago."

A smile brushes Morgana's pale lips, then she sighs.

\- "Thank you, Guinevere ..."

Her eyes close slowly. A transparent pearl slithers on her delicate cheekbone and falls to the ground.

\- "NO!" bellows Mordred like a wounded animal. "No, Mummy ... _Mummy_ ... please ... please, don't leave me…"

Albion grabs his arm and does not let go despite his fierce struggle to get rid of her. Tears are streaming down the little girl's cheeks, but the boy's face is perfectly dry.

Guinevere is crying silently.

Outside, the battle still rages, but they are alone at the top of the tower, under the black mouth of the bell.

Mordred finally stops rocking madly and slouches, motionless, his eerie blue eyes fixed on his mother.

Albion is still holding his arm and dozes against his shoulder.

Guinevere takes off her hare fur lined vest and lifts her shirt to clean the wound and apply a makeshift bandage.

It's a little clearer and smoke suffocates them less. A fresh wind creeps under the pointed roof.

Mordred gently undoes the hands of his sleeping cousin who does not stir, stands up and walks slowly to the window. For a moment he stands there, looking outside, his face impassive, then he suddenly turns round and rushes out.

His steps soon vanish into the spiral staircase. Guinevere has had no time to stop him.

Albion woke up. She gets up drowsily and stumbles to the stone windowsill.

\- "Oh", she cries.

She looks at the queen and Guinevere's heart swells in hope seeing the childlike joy in the amber eyes of the princess. She painfully hauls herself on her shaky legs, uses her sword as a crutch to hobble to the window and, there, gasps too.

On the hills surrounding the great plain of Camelot, in the fleeting mist fading like a golden muslin, hundreds of thousands of horsemen have appeared. Dew glistens on their helmets and their spears in myriads of droplets as bright as diamonds. There are the blue and silver banners of Mercia, the blond panaches and deep green pennants of Nemeth, the black and red guidons of Essetir.

\- "They came", stammers Guinevere with a smile trembling on her face smeared with blood and smoke, throwing back her matted curls.

A clamor resounds, stronger than the clatter of shields and the rumbling of hoofs trampling down the slope, the powerful roar of thousands of united hearts.

\- "FOR THE LOVE OF ALBION!"

Guinevere giggles and sobs at the same time. The child contemplates, amazed, the charge coming from all sides, magnifiscent and terrifying, encircling the trapped army of Odin.

\- "They're yelling my name!" tweets the little girl.

Vibrant, sweeping all other sounds, the breath of the dragon suddenly fills the scarlet sky, echoing to the ends of the earth, telling everyone that help in on the way.

\- "Mordred", breathes the queen.

Dawn is seeping in the white rubble and golden sunbeams caress Morgana's porcelain face, hemming her delicate features.

\- "Is it over, now, Mummy?" asks Albion.

\- "Yes", warbles Guinevere, leaning over to kiss her forehead through her tears. "Yes, it is over."

In the plain filled with light, death and glory, Camelot's allies are trumpeting their pledge.

* * *

**_TBC_**

* * *

**_So... well, it happened again. The story wanted some more time for this moment... So there is STILL two MORE chapters to go. But I don't think you'll mind._**

**_Next chapter : FLOWERS CUT TOO SHORT_**

**_It's awfully late and the day was terribly hot, so I hope there won't be too many mistakes... I'll triple check tomorrow morning. Until then... don't hold a grudge : I cried just as much as you did, couldn't see my screen by the end of the chapter._**

**_That'd explain some of the bugs, now that I think of it..._**


	37. Flowers cut too short

** FLOWERS CUT TOO SHORT**

* * *

Arthur staggers. A relieved chortle brushes his exhausted features, he lifts his sword to protect his face from the dazzling rising sun.

_He is still standing._

_He is still alive._

It is dawn and he is here, in the ruins of his castle, surrounded by corpses, under the crimson torn banners floating on the morning breeze over the smoking towers.

_It's over._

He turns slowly, gazing at the valorous men who fought by his side – soldiers, knights and commoners – straightening up in a daze, their tired hands still clasping their soiled weapons.

Bugles sound and the allied kings ride in proudly, the hoofs of their horses clattering on the cobblestones splotched in blood and tears.

Bayard, a simple crown circling his white hair and giving an even more stern look to his old face, a spear in his gauntlet, is prodding ahead of him Odin who is stumbling, hands bound. The man with a salt-and-pepper beard glares at his enemy without remorse. The black wolf howling on his yellow surcoat looks like a slobbering hound.

Lot's thin lips curl up cruelly, the king of Nemeth observes his elders with great heed.

Arthur's neck is stiff, and there is not a single part of his body that is not sore. He comes with heavy steps to face his enemy who has been thrown to his knees.

_There he is, the King of Cornwall who sent an assassin to murder him, who kidnapped and tortured Merlin, who sent thousands of men to attack Camelot and caused more losses in a four-day siege than a three-months war would have cost._

_There he is, the man whose son Arthur killed in a duel, years ago, when he was just a brash young knight._

The King of Camelot shakes his head wearily.

\- "This should have ended long ago", he mutters.

Odin's eyes shot daggers at him and he spits on the ground.

\- "Don't you dare doing me the affront of _forgiving_ me, Pendragon. Please, don't offend me with this disgusting _altruism_ you made a reputation of!

Arthur's strained face shuts painfully.

\- "_Please_?" he repeats, sucking in a shallow breath. "Merlin begged them, yet your executioners did not spare him. You've done so much harm to avenge a son who died as a man of honor ..."

He runs a hand over his face, unaware that it leaves a brownish streak on his brow.

\- "I won't offer _you_ the hand you despise", he says softly. "But I will offer it to _your people_. It's not about kindness, Odin. It's about justice, fairness ... and learning to understand what drives the heart of others."

He bows his head to the three kings who are listening silently, looking imperturbable.

\- "Take him away and don't let his blood fall on Camelot's soil."

Outraged, Odin struggles up, but Bayard pins him down and nods gravely. Lot snorts as he urges off his horse and Rodor's nephew bows his chin admiringly.

Moments later, they have left the courtyard.

_It's over._

_It's really over._

Later, there will be meetings, councils, banquets for the allies who came to save them and new treaties to write, but now, it is time to count the dead, heal the wounds, reunite with loved ones.

The sun is rising slowly above the battered slates roofs, in the blue sky where white clouds are lazily fraying.

Arthur cleans and slides his sword in his sheath. Tremors of fatigue course through his shoulders. He looks up to the main door of the castle and his face suddenly lights up.

\- "Guinevere!"

He runs to her and she hobbles down the wide stairs, hurrying to him despite her injury. He grabs her neck and kisses her mouth fiercely, then lifts her in his arms.

\- "You're alive!"

She brushes back the blond hair falling over his face, laughing and crying at the same time. She is so beautiful, despite her curly bushy hair, the dark crusted gash in her cheek, the smoke smudge under her eyes.

\- "Arthur ... oh Arthur, I love you so much" she chuckles, returning his kiss passionately.

In the courtyard, the warrior with a ponytail crouches to welcome in his open arms his three children. The newlyweds whirl in the rays of dawn. Two soldiers are slapping each other's back, giggling with exhaustion and relief. The potter rekindles his pipe, shaking his chin, tears drawing clear paths in the grime of battle.

Stretchers pass, some covered with a sheet, others accompanied by someone holding the hand of the casualty.

Some people are putting out the fires. Others are just standing, heads thrown back to contemplate the miraculous dawn. The wind stirs the tattered curtains on the royal floor.

A few children are playing with pebbles in a gleaming puddle.

Under the arcades, Percival is sitting with his head in his hands, grief-stricken. Sir Leon approaches him and settled on the stone ledge next to him. Without saying a word, he puts his arm around the shoulders of his friend and they remain so, quietly.

Three grooms are rounding up the scattered horses, a kitchen girl gathers the geese and hens. An old woman milks her goat and offers a bowl of foaming cream to a weary knight. A mutt is barking somewhere.

The blue-and-silver of Mercia, the green-and-gold of Nemeth and the black-and-red of Essetir blossom like tulips in the courtyard.

On the terrace, ladybugs scurry up the ivy. The stone bench is broken and a boulder crushed in the lush lawn. Blackbirds are pecking in the plowed brown earth, but the grapes of roses are intact and the breeze rustles softly in the green shrubs.

Georges is sweeping the tiles at the top of the Griffin Stairs. He pauses for a moment, straightens up a chair, dusts it. He pauses, lets go of a pensive sigh of relief then he keeps cleaning up the hallway flooded with parchment light.

The Dolma and Albion lift together the slab next to the queen's wardrobe and the little girl, her eyes shining, takes out of their hiding place the two small wooden dragons. Her nurse pats her head and Sir Pellinore, the potbellied white cat, rubs against her legs, purring.

On top of the bell tower, Gaius pays his respects to Morgana's body, his hands clasped over his woolen robes. Tears welling up in his eyes, Merlin comes to Mordred and puts his arm around his shoulders. The child, who was staring at his dead mother with empty orbs, flinches. Then he buries his face in the servant's tunic and weeps, poor little thing rocked by desperate gasps.

The sun basks the dragon-shaped stone horn, dawn giving a pearlescent glint to the rough scales.

In the surrounding fields, Odin's army gave way to the allies' tents and columns of prisoners are being formed, like gray rings on the desolate plain.

A raven perches on a broken spear and crows hoarsely.

Odin's boots are dangling under the old oak.

It is over.

* * *

oOoOoOo

* * *

Arthur puts his hands flat on the battlements and contemplates his land, happy to know the smokes rising into the scarlet sky of setting sun are only those of his people's homes. He feels empty but strangely at peace. He chaired councils and funerals relentlessly for two days and it is finally time to take some rest.

Camelot will recover from its injuries, as it has always done, slowly, courageously, patiently. The people are more united than ever after suffering through this together.

_They are going to be all right._

Gravels roll under the soles of his manservant who limps up the city walls stairs and comes to stand next to his master.

\- "A storm's coming."

Arthur nods.

\- "Yes. Rain will do us good. It'll be less hot."

Merlin rubs his eyes with his fists, like a sleepy child. The king watches him with tender amusement.

\- "You tired? Me too. I think we all deserve to get a good night rest."

\- "Yes", mumbles the young man. "I'm tired, Arthur ..."

Something in his voice tugs at his friend's eyebrow.

\- "You all right? It's not again about a cow that stopped giving milk, I hope ..." he scoffs. "I told you it wasn't the court physician's job to take care of th..."

He pales suddenly.

Blood is trickling down from the nose of his servant who touches it and looks at the tips of his fingers, a bit surprised.

\- "Oh."

Then he collapses.

The king catches him up just before his head hit the wall.

\- "_Merlin_!"

He throws the rangy legs over his arm, topples the lolling head against his shoulder and rushes down the stairs, terrified.

Something terribly resigned and guilty passes over Gaius' strained face when he opens the door. He steps back, points at the bed on which to put Merlin then approaches slowly, as if he was in no hurry.

\- "What's happening?" Arthur pants. "He passed out, just like that - _without warning_! He was fine!"

The old man shakes his head sadly.

\- "No, he wasn't, Sire", he replies in a barely audible voice. "He was mortally wounded during the battle."

His hand brushes his grandson's forehead, a loving touch more than a physician's gesture to feel the fever.

\- "You probably don't remember, but there was a blast and he hurt his head on his way back to the caves, the first night. He was complaining of migraines, threw up once, and his ears often bled. I ... I did not pay attention, there always was _another_ _possible reason_ for these symptoms... but yesterday, he was sitting there on the flagstones. He lifted his blue eyes, asked me if I knew where his mother was."

His throat constricts at the memory and he avoids Arthur's horrified gaze.

\- "It only lasted a short moment. Then he got up and he was acting perfectly fine again. There's a flow of blood in his head, Your Majesty. A few more hours and instead of being briefly confused or sluggish, he will faint – and he won't wake up this time."

The king sways, white as a sheet.

Gaius grabs his arm, pulls a stool and makes him sit.

\- "_Merlin_ is _dying_?" Arthur utters tonelessly.

The old man swallows hard and all his wrinkles crease painfully.

\- "Yes, sire."

Distant thunder rumbles and a first warm drop crashes on the towers soaring in the crimson sunset.

Everything is silent.

Everything is so _normal_.

The vials on the dusty shelves, the cast-iron pot in the fireplace, the old books piled on the wooden stairs, the clumps of dry yarrow and hawthorn hanging from the joists, the rough striped blanket on the cot, the inkwells and scrolls on the table next to jars of ointments, a stack of fresh laundry in a wicker basket, the worn-out ironwork on an old chest near the window.

The rain begins to patter against the window and stormy light, white and purple, fills the familiar place.

A jolt courses through the king at the first lightning bolt.

\- "No", he whispers.

He turns to the bed and meets the wide open blue eyes of Merlin.

\- "Arthur ..."

The lopsided grin gives way to a puzzled grimace.

\- "Oh. Did I fall?"

\- "Yes, my boy", Gaius answers, handing him a damp cloth to clean the red smudges on his face. "No, don't get up. Lie still for a moment."

\- "Okay", singsongs Merlin obediently.

His chest gently lifts his thin tunic. He swallows and his Adam's apple ripples under his creamy skin. A twitch at the corner of his left eye, he pulls up a knee and massages his crippled leg. One of his fingernails is purple from a blow he received during the battle or while fixing a door in the castle. His entangled dark curls needs to be trimmed.

Arthur suddenly suffocates at the thought of all the little details that make him so alive and black dots dance before his eyes.

\- "Sire, _sire_! Your Majesty! ARTHUR!"

He comes back to his senses with his head in between his knees and blood throbbing furiously in his temples.

\- "You okay?" Merlin asks anxiously, leaning on the edge of the bed.

Gaius' bushy eyebrow is both admonishing and full of pity.

\- "I'm fine", groans the king.

He sits up slowly, breathing deeply until the room has stabilized and accepts with gratitude the water cup the old physician hands him.

\- "Where did you get hurt?" rants his servant. "You shouldn't hide it. Oh. I bet you spent the night on paperwork instead of resting, you dollophead. That's why you almost fainted like a girl ! I'll tell Geoffrey of Montmouth and he'll write about it in his chronicles: Ay, _fat_ lot of brilliance, the King of Camelot was."

Arthur stifles a laugh that sounds like a sob.

\- "Shut up, _Mer_lin."

For a moment there is only the sound of rain drops in the room, then the cobalt orbs lock with the sapphires, sincere and full of friendship.

\- "You're going to be all right, Arthur."

Gaius leaps and the king freezes.

\- "Everyone must die someday, y'know", Merlin adds, cocking his head to the side, very serious. "Some men are born to plow fields, some live to be great physicians, others to be great kings. Then one day they die, it's like that. Me, I was born to serve you. And I'm proud of that. And I wouldn't change a thing. But now I must go and you don't get to order me not, because it's _normal_."

\- "There never was anything _normal_ with you", Arthur coughs weakly. "Clotpole."

\- "Hey, that's _my_ word", quips Merlin.

After that, there is nothing more to say except farewell and this is what everyone comes to do. It is the strangest thing in the world to see these so different people popping at the door one after the other to say goodbye, and Merlin greeting them with his usual cheerfulness, as if he was only leaving for a few days.

Sir Leon clasps arms with him like a knight then tousles his hair affectionately.

\- "I'll miss you, my friend", he says gravely.

Percival lets the lanky servant take his brawny frame in his arms, knowing that Merlin understands his pain and his grief.

\- "T'was an honor to meet you, little one", he murmurs.

Geoffrey of Monmouth gazes at the young man for a long time then leaves the room after briefly squeezing Gaius' shoulder. The Dolma croons and fusses over him until she's kicked out. Georges waddles from one foot to the other, twisting the hem of his tunic, puckers his brow, and with red cheeks gabbles something that sounds like _youwerebetterafriendthanaservantandIlikedyou_.

Mordred purses his lips, looking grim.

\- "I wish Sir Gwaine would be there", he mutters stubbornly after a long and heavy silence.

\- "I'm sorry", Merlin whispers.

\- "Will died", states the boy. "My mother too."

\- "I know", just replies the servant.

Mordred looks up and his eerie blue eyes are bright with tears.

\- "I'm _alone_!" he blusters.

\- "No", protests the young man sadly. "No, that's not true."

\- "Then _stay_ to show me!" the child demands angrily.

\- "I can't", Merlin repeats in a small voice. "I'm sorry, I can't."

Mordred storms off, slamming the door and Gaius comforts his heartbroken grandson.

Albion and Guinevere show up shortly after. The little girl climbs on the cot and snuggles on her friend's lap, the queen sits on the bed and puts her arm around the manservant's shoulders.

\- "Thank you for everything you've done, Merlin", she says, trying to smile. "Thank you for what you are."

Albion lets go of a big sigh.

\- "Your dragon, I'll keep it for me and I'll give Father's one to my little brother when I get one", she announces. "My falcon, I'll name it after you. When will you come back? It's far away, Avalon. Don't go there, please."

Merlin chuckles.

\- "I will tell Mithian how pretty you became and how well you read, now. But don't swap the dragons, Albion. Arthur will need you to love him a lot. Doing so would hurt him, you know."

\- "He _scolds_", mumbles the little girl almost in spite of herself.

Guinevere does not comment but her smile is sad.

Merlin taps the bud nose of the child.

\- "He scolds, yes, but that's to hide how poorly he feels", he explains. "He acts tough when he's scared and prattish when he's lost. That's why Arthur should never be left alone. You have to take good care of him, remind him that he must laugh often and run after the cats or otherwise he'll put on too much weight."

The queen giggles, but tears are clinging to her eyelashes.

\- "We will take care of him for you, Merlin. I promise."

\- "I promise", chimes Albion gravely.

Then she plants a kiss on the servant's cheek and jumps off the bed.

\- "See you soon, Merlin", she chirps, waving her graceful little hand at the door. "Good night."

\- "Good night, princess", answers the young man fondly.

\- "Farewell, Merlin", Guinevere says softly, bending to kiss her friend's forehead. "I will never forget you."

Night has fallen by the time they have all passed in the room and it is dark, despite the candles lit everywhere by Gaius.

He sits on the stool next to the bed and checks on his grand-son.

\- "You're not too tired?"

\- "No", Merlin yawns. "Maybe I won't die today, actually."

The old physician smiles affectionately.

\- "There's no one like you in the whole world, do you know? That you'd fallen from the moon, it wouldn't surprise me."

The young man winks.

\- "But the moon's not called Hunith! I'm glad I'll see her there ... and Balinor - my father, that is. I will be allowed to call him Father, there, no king will stop me. And then I'll see Lancelot, and Freya, too. I wonder if they missed me!"

\- "I'm sure they did", Gaius croaks.

\- "I wish Derian would come back before I leave."

\- "What about Gwaine?"

Merlin smiles mysteriously.

\- "I reckon he went ahead, not waiting for me. Are there are tankards of mead in Avalon, Gaius?"

\- "I would think there are", squawks the physician who finds it increasingly difficult to hide his emotion.

\- "No tears", warns his grandson. "Or Arthur will hurt too much ..."

\- "You're right", the old man stutters.

His gnarled hands prop up the pillows under the young man's head. There are crimson stars on the white linen and the black curls around his ears are sticky. Merlin has not realized that he was more lying than sitting, now.

\- "My head hurts", he winces involuntarily.

Gaius gets up heavily to prepare a potion which he knows will not be a relief.

The door creaks and Arthur slips inside.

\- "Are they all gone?" he asks irritably.

\- "Yes, including that darn woman", answers the court physician. "Thank you for allowing them to come, sire. It was very important to him."

The King clears his throat.

\- "Well", he grumbles. "Good."

He steps into the room, sits on the stool next to the bed, where he spent so many hours after the dreadful events of Daobeth.

\- "Hey", he says.

\- "Are you going to tell me stuff, too?" twitters his servant.

The king snorts, a bit amused.

\- "_Stuff_? No, _Mer_lin."

He becomes serious.

\- "But I'll stay here. With you. Until ... until it's time."

\- "Can _I_ say something, then? asks the young man, playing with the laces of the king's sleeve.

Arthur grins.

\- "What, that I'm a lousy singer?" he joshes clumsily. "You already told me the last time you asked permission to speak."

Merlin chuckles.

\- "Nah. But it's true, though, so if someone tells you otherwise, be wary. They're no friends!"

\- "But _you_ are", blurts Arthur whose poker face is cracking.

He wraps in his hands his servant's slender fingers.

\- "What am I going to do without you, Merlin?" he rasps.

\- "You will be King of Camelot, just like you are already. The greatest king this land has borne. _The Once and Future King_. You'll keep building Albion until other countries beyond the seas and from the ends of the world want to have the same dream as you. You'll keep telling people there is room for everyone, as long as we huddle a bit. You will show them how big your heart is, so big we could all fit in: me, Number Four, bastards and idiots, drunks and tramps and all the people of Camelot."

Merlin's blue eyes are shining with love and faith.

\- "That's what you are, Arthur. This is why you were born."

He props himself on his elbows, sits up with effort and his arms gently pull the king in an embrace.

\- "I wish I could have tell you that when you were Albion's age", he breathes, cradling the blonde man's nape. "_I love you_. I'm sorry you've been hurt so much. You're _not alone_, Sire. You don't need be better or different. I'm _proud_ of you."

Arthur shuts his eyes. His whole body is shuddering while the words wash over him, taking away years of painful bitterness, years of trying to play a role, of never finding favor in his father's eyes. His arms close around his friend and he just grips him back, because the lump in his throat is too big to let a single word out.

\- "Don't you give up", Merlin whispers. "Don't you stop fighting for what you believe in, Arthur Pendragon."

He is speaking through his nose, not realizing that blood is again trickling down on his upper lip, staining his master's white shirt.

\- "Thank you... Merlin ... thank you… for everything ..."

\- "Don't cry", warns the servant in a faltering voice. "Otherwise, I'll cry too."

The king only tightens the hug.

\- "I don't care", he grunts. "It's all right to cry ... it's you who said so ..."

Because some things are harder than battle – _like being at the bedside of a dying brother, like having to say goodbye to the companion who shared the road with you, like knowing you are leaving behind your best friend _– Merlin snuggles against Arthur's wide shoulder and he sobs, while the king lets go of his tears with no shame.

Gaius retreated to the back of the room to hide his own snuffles.

The rain crackles on the window sill. The city sleeps and the gutters melancholic melody lull the people.

Arthur gently laid Merlin back on his pillows and he is leaning over him, listening fondly to the familiar babble.

\- "It's pouring. Lord Geoffrey's rheumatism will act up."

\- "Georges has probably already provided him with blankets and a good fire, don't worry."

\- "Sir Pellinore is getting fat."

\- "That's because he steals my bread and butter. _Mer_lin, in what kind of realm are we living where _cats_ eat in the king's plate? I knew I should have kept these mastiffs…"

\- "It's Guinevere's birthday next week. She said she'd love to have a red velvet dress with embroideries."

\- "I'll get the best seamstresses to work on it."

\- "Albion trained with her crossbow to make a surprise for you. You should go hunt with her when autumn comes."

\- "It's not a _surprise_ if you tell me, _Mer_lin. You really _are_ rubbish at keeping secrets!"

\- "… head hurts ..."

\- "I know. I'm sorry ..."

\- "Does that mean you'll give me a day off?"

\- "No. _Two_."

Arthur does not feel the soreness in his hunched back as the hours pass by. He is still holding the hand of his friend, as if that was all that mattered.

_And it is._

Outside, the rain keeps falling with a delicate and discreet sound. The night gives way to dawn again, and the sky fills with blending colors, like a painting fading underwater.

\- "We had a good time, isn't it?"

\- "Yes. We had the best of times."

The young man smiles. Then his eyelids close and his head sinks into the pillow, as if he was drifting off to sleep.

\- "Merlin?"

The king's strangled call startles from his slumber Gaius who came back earlier to be at his grandson's bedside.

\- "Is he ... is he ..."

The old man checks his patient's pulse, lifts an eyelid, and listens to the scrawny chest. Then he sits back heavily into the chair on the other side of the cot and runs a very weary hand over his face. His jowls are quivering.

\- "Gaius", Arthur wheezes. "_Gaius_, is he ... I beg you ..."

The court physician slowly nods.

\- "Yes", he heaves. "He's dead. Our Merlin is gone."

The King turns into a statue for a moment.

Then he leans over his servant, takes again the hand he held all night and squeezes it gently. His sapphire eyes mist up and his jaws quaver as if they were going to break, but he smiles.

\- "Sweet dreams, Merlin. You well deserved your day off."

Outside, the golden sky is shedding tears of blood.

* * *

oOoOoOo

* * *

The willow branches bow over the lake. The breeze stirs them gently. A glitter ripples on the water. From time to time, a fish laps at the mirror surface in which reflects the wide blue sky. A golden haze of insects swirls in the sunshine. It is agreeably cool in the shade.

Arthur loiters in the woods, clad in armor, his long red cloak billowing over the thick green carpet of grass and clovers. From time to time, he stops, crouches and picks up a bluebell that he adds to his bouquet.

\- "Father, I found a fairy flower!"

Albion trots up to him, pleating up her black silk dress, her sandy curls dancing around her chubby face.

She proudly presents him the dandelion and pouts, seeing that it is stripped. Arthur chuckles at her discomfiture and hands her another one. The little girl smiles at him. She puffs her cheeks, blows with him to scatter the light downy feathers.

\- "Bye-bye!" she waves.

\- "Is your bouquet ready?" asks the king.

\- "Yes, sire", Albion answers promptly. Squeezed flowers pop from behind her back and Arthur nods approvingly before showing his.

\- "Oh, it's so pretty!" pips the child.

The blond man gets up, takes her hand. They walk together towards the creek, slowly.

\- "Merlin won't come back, will he?" says the little girl after a moment, looking up at her father.

\- "No, indeed", answers Arthur. "But what he taught us will always remain with us. That's how we will remember him and how we will cope with his absence."

\- "What did he teach you, Father?"

The king pauses, gazing through the trees at the crowd gathered on the banks of the lake, then he cocks his head to smile at her daughter.

\- "To love you, Albion."

She grins at him with all her white pearls – except for a hole in the top row, where she is missing her last baby tooth.

They go up to the boat and people step aside to let them pass. Almost all Camelot is here today: servants who are weeping, sorrowful knights with their arms in a sling or walking with crutches, farmers in their Sunday best and villagers with their families.

\- "Here we are, Gaius", says the king. "Thanks for waiting for us."

Albion arranges the two bouquets among the reeds, ivy and roses lining the bottom of the boat.

Nobody says aloud that the flowers have been cut too short, as if children who were never taught how to do it had collected them.

Then Arthur draws Excalibur from the scabbard tied to his belt and lays the sword under Merlin's joined hands.

\- "Keep this for me, will you ..." he whispers. "Until we fight together again."

He contemplates his friend one last time with a lump in his throat. His hand ruffles the black locks, his fingers softly brush against the pale carved cheekbones. He gives a gentle flick to the angular chin roughen by a dark stubble.

\- "One must shave to appear before his king, _Mer_lin", he rasps with a trembling smile.

His manservant does not banter back, for once.

He seems so alive, just deeply asleep behind his thick eyelashes, dressed in his best cobalt linen shirt, with his boots carefully polished - Georges has seen to that. Gaius and Guinevere washed him, laced his brown breeches, brushed his leather jacket till it was perfect, fluffed his hair and tucked small bags of hawthorn and rosemary in his pockets.

He has never been so handsome – nor so quiet.

\- "It's time, Sire", Leon calls softly, putting his hand on the king's shoulder.

Arthur slowly straightens up. His red cloak drags in the pleasantly cold water on this hot day of late summer. He helps Percival to push the boat to the center of the lake then climbs up on the bank to his place next to Guinevere who intertwines her fingers with his.

Gaius is looking very old, standing in his long burgundy ceremonial robes, his white hair neatly combed and his skin blotched by his sleepless nights. His bushy brows are knitted and tears roll down his wrinkled cheeks. A few steps behind him, the Dolma and Geoffrey of Monmouth are silent. Georges is also there, as well as Mordred whose face is chalk white but dry.

Number Four hides in the shadow of a tree, in dusty clothes and worn-out boots, looking exhausted. He came back just a moment ago and brought the news of Gwaine's death at the ridge of Kemeray to Sir Leon who was getting dressed for Merlin's funeral.

The king beckons to him and he approaches hesitantly, accepts the bow, the arrow Percival gives him.

The small boat drifts away and the breeze caresses their faces.

\- "We are here for Merlin of Ealdor, son of Hunith and Balinor", says the king in a loud voice that does not waver. "He lived among us putting his whole heart in every task entrusted to him. He set an example and gave us hope in dark times, never claiming anything for himself. He was more than a servant. He was a friend and a brother to all men."

Number Four bends the bow and lifts it. The flaming arrow flies through the sky in a graceful curve, like a bird, and crashes into the boat.

_A lanky boy with large ears spins on his heels and a lopsided grin lights up his bony face. There is something magical in his blue eyes._

_A precious and irreplaceable gift._

_A friendship that does not judge, does not betray, that is offered freely._

_A reaching hand, three words that have the power to change a life._

Tears stream down his cheeks continuously, but Arthur smiles at peace, as he contemplates the blaze reflecting in the lake.

\- "Farewell, Merlin", he breathes. "Thank you."

Guinevere snuggles against him and he wraps his arm around his wife's shoulders.

\- "We're going to be all right", she whispers.

Albion nestles her head against her father's hip, her little hand curled around the big hand of the king.

\- "We're going to be all right", she chirps softly.

Arthur nods.

\- "Yes. We will."

* * *

_**TBC **_

* * *

**_Arc based on episodes 5x13, 1x10, 4x12, 4x13, 5x04, 5x07_**

* * *

**_I know you hate me, but please wait till you read the last chapter (that should be posted this coming saturday) before you decide what you're going to do with me..._**


	38. That's how the story ends

**THAT'S HOW THE STORY ENDS**

* * *

\- "Idiot, idiot, idiot", are chanting children in the muddy street.

Arthur stops, a bit dazzled. He brings a hand to his forehead to shield his eyes and his heart aches watching their dancing figures in the steaming light. They hop in circles around a tall, skinny boy with large ears, who spins on himself to smile at them...

\- "Sire?"

Arthur flinches and comes back to the present time. He nods at Sir Leon who observes him with a slightly worried look and strides on.

The melody fades away. The children have disappeared, evaporated amid the market stalls.

The king goes down the main street of Camelot, his long red coat billowing behind him, the sun playing in his blond hair, and he feels more alone than ever.

* * *

_It was so many years ago._

* * *

Garlands of flowers, ribbons and brightly colored flags are hanging on strings tautened between the whitewashed houses.

A baker puts out on his stall honey and ginger pancakes with tempting thick crusts. A bit further, a woman wearing an orange turban sets wheels of cheese on wooden lattices. Her neighbor deploys rich fabrics of bright hues, hailing customers with a strong and cheerful voice. A cooper with bushy gray whiskers pours a cup of golden cider for the _Rising Sun_ innkeeper. Two peasant women with plump hips are arguing over their lettuce baskets. An old scribe dozes on the back of a placid donkey pulled by the bridle by a lad who is chewing on a wheat stem.

A sunny breeze tinkles in the glass phials hung under the eaves of the apothecary shop. While sewing, a lass sings at the corner of a balcony laced with hollyhocks, to the tune of a viola that a minstrel sitting on the well strums with melancholy. The blacksmith, his bare torso drenched in sweat, a leather apron tied over his breeches, hits his hammer at great regular blows to shoe the dappled horse of a knight who whistles idly. Some court ladies are simpering as they admire pearls and silver chains presented on red velvet cushions. A spaniel with long fluffy ears stretches, yawning, on a stone threshold.

The warm smell of saffron blends with thyme bouquets and bunches of onions, basking in the aroma of chicken cooking on a spit. At the gates, the portly cook monitors the unloading of bags of flour in a sparkling white haze. Some guards are guffawing together, heavy keys rattling at their belts. A man with a weathered face protected by a worn-out felt hat carries on his shoulder a basket filled to the brim with juicy and sweet black grapes. Three washerwomen make their way through the crowd, chattering, arms loaded with crispy clean laundry smelling of soap.

There is always a lot going on in the lower town. It reigns there the buzzing of a simple life, with its joys and sorrows, in a peaceful country.

It's been seven years since the siege of Camelot. There are scars from the ordeal on the landscape: forever barren patches in the plain, scaffoldings and ladders still girdling the towers that have been the most bombed, indelible dark smirches on the walls above the moat.

Troubadours found plenty of inspiration for songs in the memories of one another: Sir Gwaine's heroic ride, Excalibur found and wielded by the king, the commoners fighting alongside the knights until the last morning, the glorious coming of the allied armies on the hills.

Merlin's name is not forgotten in the epic poems. But legends are so made that they turn truth into tales. Some believe he was an angel who took the shape of a young boy, some say he was an old sorcerer with a long white beard, others that he was a slumbering dragon chained under the castle, who whispered words of advice to the ruler of Albion.

Only Arthur and a few people remember the bumbling idiot who loved a prince so much it changed the world.

After the siege, Number Four moved to the court physician's chambers. He watched over him like a son, until the last day of Merlin's grandfather, arranging the blankets around the old man crooked by age and grief, restocking the firewood supplies, cooking his favorite mushrooms gruel, tidying and sweeping in the room filled with books, flasks and medicinal herbs. When Gaius died on a cold evening of the following spring, the silent warrior closed his eyes and kissed his wizened forehead. Then he packed his things and left with the king's permission. He died a few years later, after obtaining the submission of the northern territories, completing with this treaty the unification of Albion. He rests under a cairn at the top of a mountain covered with snow, just like Gwaine.

Percival never remarried.

Geoffrey of Monmouth is still working on his chronic but more often dozes on his vellums than fills parchments with his ornamental penmanship. The son of Sir Elyan grinds his inks.

Georges seconds the steward of the castle and might very well succeed to him someday. Meanwhile, his jokes on brass keep driving nuts the other servants.

The queen's reputation spreads, her wisdom and benevolence are praised beyond the borders. Guinevere does not draw pride in it, but rather endeavors even more. She has locked up in her heart the words of a very old woman, and dreads the day when the other predictions of the druid will become true.

Mordred is growing up, but he does not find peace. Over the years, the desires tossing restlessly in him, desperate to escape like rats in a cage, constantly gnaw at his mind.

He misses Gwaine who is not there to help him get rid of his anger with an affectionate jest: the former drunk understood more than anyone the inner torment of the child, his thirst to prove he has the right to exist here and now.

He lost Will, he only goes along politely with Leon and Percival, and nothing has changed in his relationship with the other squires. He is still "the bastard", the parasite, the one that should not be here, should not be invited to have supper with the royal family, should not raise his eyes.

Arthur is good to him - _perhaps too indulgent, as if he could not bring himself to confront Mordred about the consequences of the choices one makes_ \- but he never sat again with the boy like he had done in the caves, he never touched him again, as if he could not erase from his memory what Mordred did - or perhaps what he _is_.

When the little prince is born, three years after the siege, Mordred's pain explodes to the point he disappears and only comes back several days later, muddy as if he had wandered about the whole country. Arthur says nothing, and neither does Leon. Percival followed him and told them the teenager had spent the three days at his mother's grave, prostrated at the foot of the hill covered with a thick emerald carpet speckled by tiny white flowers.

Mordred knows he will never be as cherished, loved, welcomed and desired as the newborn prince. He wants to hate the infant who gets Arthur's smiles, whom Guinevere cradles in her arms, whom Albion kisses and fusses over, of whom the people cheered and celebrated the birth for more than a week - but he _cannot_. Instead, an overwhelming need to protect the child rises in him like a whirlwind. He prowls around the nursery and the Dolma shoos him off like a cur hovering near a basket of kittens.

Finally, it is Arthur who brings him his cousin on a summer night. Crickets are frizzling in the garden of roses, up on the terrace. The night breeze swishes softly in the shrubs under the dark vault twinkling with thousands of stars.

The king was not expecting to find his nephew on the bench, but he stops him when the teenager stands to leave, hanging his head low.

\- "Do you want to take him in your arms?" he asks with a chin gesture towards the baby.

There is a distant pain lining the kindness in his words, so Mordred nods.

For several minutes he stares at the sleeping child he is holding, who is _so_ unaware of the world around him and of the future that awaits him, of the issues and decisions that lie upon him. Then he lifts his head and meets Arthur's glance.

\- "You too are part of the family", murmurs the blond man in the hushed night. "You do know that, don't you, Mordred?"

A lump swells in the teenager's throat.

_Oh,__ if only that were true._

He is about to burst into tears, to give up anger and bitterness, to forget everything.

_If only__ Arthur could just reach out and ruffle his hair, as he did before..._

But the king takes back the prince and nestles him against his shoulder. The tenderness obvious in his every move rips apart Mordred's heart.

_He killed his own father because he hated him._

_Isn't it just right that he never gets the love of the father he wants to have?_

So he seeks elsewhere what Camelot cannot give him, avoids the dinners with the royal family, tells them he prefers his freedom – and, with a concerned frown, Arthur allows him to have it.

_He is alone. So alone._

Nobody visits Morgana's grave, except for Guinevere and Albion - and for that Mordred is grateful, even if he would never show it.

People spit on the ground, they say the way to the hill under which the princess remains is cursed. Rumors are rife in the tavern, stories enrich with new details every year, becoming more and more absurd, more and more cruel. They call the mad woman "the witch", they say that when she fought at the top of the bell tower, it was not her raven hair floating around her, but the wings of a crow, unfurling as she tore bloody strips of flesh from the enemy.

Mordred gets drunk and finds himself in brawls, wakes up with excruciating migraines but never cries.

Every morning at training he spars without holding, finding a fleeting relief in exhaustion, in the adrenaline throbbing in his temples.

He nourishes his bitter thoughts, sinking more and more in darkness, and Guinevere cannot go get through the impenetrable glass wall in his eerie blue eyes. Albion is also trying, but she feels that her affection hurts her cousin, so she steers clear of him.

One night, as he is mulling in front of his tankard of mead, a group of young people sits at his table: they have come a long way, their cloaks are dusty and their accents roll under their tongues, like old magic words. Among them, there is a girl – almost a woman – named Kara, and Mordred is fascinated by her insolent beauty. He is sixteen and dying to be loved. In the satin cuddle of the girl, covered in sweat, drained but satiated, he finally feels a sense of belonging. His cheek resting on her soft breasts, he plays with Kara's voluptuous hair, absently listening to her words, not realizing that she is poisoning him with her ideas, slowly, surely.

_Camelot__ is a rich country where every man is accepted, but the power still belongs to the nobility..._

_If__ the people were to govern over themselves..._

_If there was__ no king ..._

A jolt stops Mordred on the slippery slope on which the anarchists were dragging him.

_"No, not__ Arthur."_

Kara is irate, threatens to cut ties with him, calls him a traitor and a coward, and in her rage yells: "royal bastard, that's all you are!"

Mordred blanches, livid, and storms out, slamming the door behind him.

A few days later, Kara and her friends try to murder Arthur - _to__ rid the country of the oppressor, as they say._

They are all captured, sentenced to be hanged, and Mordred cannot help but bite his lips until they bled when the rope brutally strangles the delicate gorge he used to drizzle with kisses. He leaves the courtyard as soon as he can and takes refuge in the guards' latrines where he retches until his throat burns with bile.

Arthur finds him in the bell tower, that night. The King noticed his nephew's fretful state during the execution - Guinevere too, it was her who urged her husband not to wait before confronting the young man.

Arthur does not know where to start, so he looks in his memories for what he felt when he himself was sixteen. He dives into the story of his first crush and that leads him into talking about his arranged marriage with Lady Elena, and about the lies of his father, the doubts born from knowing the truth about his mother's death, his disappointment and the sense of betrayal he felt at the time.

Mordred is listening to him passionately.

In the dark tower, sitting against the cold wall in the moonlight blue glow, the boy finally decides to speak, in a choking voice. He vents his spleen, empties his heart – lets go of all of it, bluntly, like a child waking up from of a nightmare or a man sitting by the fire with another warrior.

_He kept it all inside for so long__._

The king listens in silence, without a shadow of judgment in his attentive sapphire irises.

_As__ Mordred bares his anguish and mistakes, Arthur ceases to see the milky skin of his sister and her raven curls, he forgets the shape of the nose and the facial contours that remind him of Lord Agravaine. Only remains a pair of distraught blue eyes, so lonely and so eager to prove themselves, to hear a word of love and pride._

_Eyes__ that are exactly like _his_ were,__ years ago, when they met Merlin's cobalt orbs for the first time._

So he remembers the grace that was given to him.

When dawn creeps into the bell tower and the boy finally grows quiet, exhausted, Arthur reaches out to his nephew to help him up.

\- "The stars are fading. It's time to take some rest", he says. "Let's go back, son."

And before he leaves the room, he tousles the young man's hair affectionately.

Mordred shivers, then looks up.

\- "I will be expecting you at training, though", Arthur says gruffly. "You'll spar with me."

\- "Yes, sire!" the boy promptly replies, straightening.

Then he hesitates, smiles.

\- "Thank you", he whispers.

\- "Um", just mutters the king, already going down the stairs.

From across time, he hears another thank you he did not deserve and that thought strangely warms his heart, even if it also twinges.

_If Merlin was here, he would be proud of him._

* * *

oOoOoOo

* * *

Horses' hoofs clatter on the cobblestones and the king greets the knights coming back from patrol. He stops at the gates to exchange a few words with the two guards playing dice on a barrel in the cool shadow of the white arch.

Sir Leon asks one of them about a relative who wants to join the army and, during that time, Arthur closes his eyes to breathe in the familiar smell of the old stones.

_He is back__ seven years before and all is fine._

_The strange__ sensation, like a forgotten pin in the crease of a luxury garment or lumps in a tasty soup, has disappeared._

_Under the stars,__ a gold coin with two perfectly chiseled faces flips gracefully._

Camelot has changed and Arthur is no longer able to feel the perfect peace and security that provides a home.

It is not only because the tapestries have been changed, the furniture is new or the stables had to be completely rebuilt and some floors refurbished otherwise, or because many of his advisors are no longer those who accompanied him at the beginning of his reign.

Even when he is sparring with his knights, his brothers in arms, and getting up covered with sand, stiff and sore in this good way that sends you to sleep without dreams…

Even when he is strolling in the castle hallways with Guinevere, holding her hand, and they are talking about when they will be old, with white hair and creaking joints, and will sail to the end of the world in a boat with a dragon-shaped bow…

Even when he is wrestling for fun with his giggling son on the fur rug in front of the fireplace or when he is listening, amused though vaguely worried, to Albion declaiming verses with a very _Dolma-tic_ pose…

Even when he is gazing at his kingdom bathed in light, standing alone on the city walls in the chill of early morning…

_He never__ feels quite at home._

_There__ is always something missing._

Someone touches his sleeve and he comes back to the present.

\- "Sire?"

That's twice now that Sir Leon had to snap his liege out of a daydream and the knight frowns. The horrible scar across his face is pink and swollen because of the heat, but despite the scary look it gives him, Arthur reads his friend's concern.

\- "I'm fine, Leon", he smiles.

He walks away, absently rubbing the silky blond beard that softens his strong jawline.

He pushes back his memories and focuses on the new threat to his kingdom: _Saxons_. They are wrecking their way to Camelot, according to reports, but this time Arthur is determined to not let them approach and go out to fight them.

_Seven years of peace._

_He will not allow it to stop here._

_Never again will they have to go through a siege._

In the courtyard, they come across a swarm of tittering girls and hackneys with pleated manes and beautiful embroidered velvet harnesses. In the middle of the group, four of Sir Leon's five daughters are laughing in a haze of Venetian frizzes. The youngest one, who is just a toddler, is in the arms of their mother, next to the Dolma, who herself is cluttered with Sir Pellinore, the potbellied old white cat, purring royally. The nanny monitors this deployment of gaiety and insouciance with the eye of a duenna. The woman does not seem to have aged at all since the day she theatrically introduced herself in the throne room.

Albion hops on her saddle without help from the groom, lithe and gracious as a huntress amazon, and arranges her long peacock brocade dress, swiftly yet artistically. She is fourteen, with a svelte silhouette, feet too big to her liking that she hides in cavalier boots, an abundance of honeyed curls, her mother's smile and the endearingly pointy teeth of her father.

She waves happily to the king, hangs her crossbow down her back with a quick gesture full of grace and independence. There is a handful of darts in her high leather belt and she has donned her falconry glove. She clicks her tongue and urges forward her horse, not bothering to know if the rest of her court is following.

From the balcony, Guinevere, regal in her ruby velvet gown, watches the princess, shaking her head with amusement, then she goes back inside after blowing a kiss to the king who caught it with a grin, not caring about the gossiping girls or the sighs of the gallants forced to escort these damsels in the woods where their giggles will certainly alert to the last field mice.

\- "Fathew!"

Arthur spins just in time to scoop up the toddler running to him.

His son has his blue eyes, Guinevere's dark curls and skin, Gwaine's cheekiness, Lancelot's brave heart and Merlin's kindness.

\- "How was your day, Emrys ?" asks the king, whilst the four years old child makes the wooden dragon crawl on his father's head.

\- "I fought wit Siw Pewcival and I won!" babbles the little boy. "My pony ate a cawwot. He twied ta munch my haiw but Mo scolded him."

The young man is jogging down the stairs, followed at a more serene pace by the tall burly knight smiling benevolently.

\- "The prince ran away from the nursery – again", Mordred explains sheepishly. "We looked for him everywhere and then ... well ... it wasn't very difficult to carry out our tasks even if he was with us."

\- "It's not a nanny he needs, but ten guards", Arthur sighs. "Gentlemen, my deepest apologies. I will give orders for him to be grounded tomorrow."

\- "Oh _no_!" squeaks the child. "I don't want ta! I want ta see my pony and train wit me sord and eat gingewbwead!"

The king frowns, but Emrys does not look the slightest worried and his chubby fingers smooth the wrinkles at the corners of his father's eyes – that is how he knows the king is not really crossed.

\- "Before you start giving orders, you must learn to obey", chides Arthur, sighing. "A prince sets an example."

\- "Yes, Fathew", grumbles the little boy, looking down but peeking through his long dark eyelashes.

The blond man puts him down. The toddler bounces up to Mordred and jumps on his back.

\- "Are the scouts back?"

Percival nods.

\- "Then let's meet in the Round Table Hall", says Arthur, narrowing his eyes at his impish son hiding behind the neck of the young man who is the prince's best playmate and hero. "Emrys, you are to go back to the nursery before your mother asks for you. Mordred, you'll come to join us in an hour. I'll have instructions for the squires."

He ruffles his nephew's black hair, gives a tender flick to the toddler's cheek, then climbs the wide white stairs with the brawny knight.

\- "Where's our enemy, Percival?"

\- "At the pass of Camlann, Sire", reports his old friend.

\- "To Camlann it will be, then."

The courtyard is flooded in sunlight and splashes of water glitter on the cobblestones. Mordred and Emrys are laughing and running in circles in a flurry of scintillating pearls.

* * *

_That's how the story ends._

* * *

The story of a mighty king lead by the hand of a child.

The story of two men, two friends, two brothers.

The story of Arthur Pendragon, King of Camelot, who is lying on the shores of a lake the morning after the battle at the pass of Camlann, his blond hair matted with blood and his chainmail coat weighting heavily on his weakening body.

He was mortally wounded throwing himself between the enemy and his nephew who was going to be killed by a Saxon. The boy slayed the soldier, then dragged Arthur to safety and knelt at his side. The king managed to smile despite the pain convulsing his features. He raised his arm in a last effort and, with his good old sword that Merlin loved to sharpen and that remained sheathed for seven years of peace, he made Mordred a Knight of Camelot.

The sunlight flickers through the thick foliage of the trees, the air is crispy cold and has a tangy taste. The clear blue sky is high above him, pale pink clouds lined in champagne fraying like bits of cotton in the water. The meadow is beaded with shimmering dew.

Arthur's eyelids slowly close and the pain on his face fades away.

He does not hear the sobs of the young man at his side any more.

_He fought well – until the end. Never gave up, always stood strong and brave. He's done well._

_It's time to go, now._

The wind rustles quietly in the oaks canopy.

\- "Arthur…"

He finds himself standing in a bright mist. He can feel a breeze carrying the fragrance of cherry blossom and fresh green grass.

He looks around – and there _he_ is.

Tall lanky frame, mop of black hair, big blue eyes and a lopsided grin.

\- "Merlin!"

\- "I was waiting for you", says the manservant who is not limping anymore.

There are other figures behind him.

The cat-eyed girl who died in Merlin's arms many years ago greets Arthur shyly, her hands clasped quietly in front of her purple silk dress - a dress like those once worn by Morgana. Her name was... _Freya_, if he remembers well.

Balinor's bearded face has not changed since the days he was chatting with passion until late at night, opening the naive eyes of a prince who looked up to him as an older brother. Under his arm is nestled a small woman with her hair gathered under a scarf, with a soft and reserved look. She has periwinkle eyes and her smile full of love is that of the mother Arthur never had: she must be Hunith.

Uther steps forward and Arthur's throat tightens at seeing him. The man with short gray hair is the _ruler_ he knew, respected, hated and mourned, but the eyes of his _father_ are asking for forgiveness. Next to him is Morgana, long raven ringlets cascading over her gown, her bright eyes as innocent and happy as they were before their world shattered because of Morgause. She is hugging the manuscript and the tattered book they buried her with.

Gaius is there, too, and nods approvingly, his hands crossed on his belly. His signature eyebrow is not raised and his benevolent face welcomes Arthur like a son.

The king stifles a sob and smiles through his tears when they step aside and let him see Mithian, dressed in a swirl of cream silk. She lifts her laced veil and winks at him with blushing cheeks. "_Thanks_," she quietly articulates and he is overwhelmed by his desire to run to her and hug her strong, to tell her how much their daughter is wonderful and to catch up with all the time that was taken from them.

Then Gwaine appears with a daisy at the corner of his mouth, his roguish smile flashing in his brown beard, and throws back his wavy hair nonchalantly, leaning on the shoulder of Lancelot, clad in armor, who is watching his friend and king, looking incredibly proud.

Finally Number Four steps forward, puts a knee onto the ground and presents him Excalibur.

\- "My liege", he says.

He has the gentle, deep voice of a man capable of great courage and of great kindness.

Arthur takes the sword. It is heavy and cold, _so real_.

His gaze goes from one to another then comes back to his servant.

\- "Is this Avalon?" he wonders. "All these lakes look the same."

Merlin shrugs.

\- "Does it matter?"

\- "Will you ever answer when you're asked a question, _Mer_lin? Now. Am I dead?"

The young man tilts his head.

\- "_Once and future king_, they called you. You had to go at some point, if you were to _return_ someday."

Arthur's feels his insides churning and his mind racing.

\- "Camelot… Guinevere… Emrys and Albion…."

\- "Will be safe with Percival and Sir Leon to keep watch over them", whispers Merlin, coming closer. "And the Dolma, and Morderd to whom you offered a blank page to write his life from now onwards."

His hand touches lightly the king's sleeve and Arthur shudders.

He stares at the callous fingers, then looks up and his sapphire eyes meet cobalt orbs shaded by dark eyelashes.

His heart clenches so suddenly he almost chokes.

\- "I missed you", he rasps, grabbing the arm of his manservant, of his friend, of his brother.

\- "I'm here, now", breathes Merlin.

His smile wraps the king in a warm embrace.

\- I won't leave you ever again.

A drop of dew falls in the lake and ephemeral rings ripple ad infinitum on the glistening mirror in which reflect the snowy mountains.

Arthur knows, now, what that smile meant from the very beginning.

He's home.

* * *

-oOo-

* * *

**_It's over..._**

**_I must say I'm a little scared yet I can't wait for your thoughts about this last chapter..._**

**_THANK YOU for your incredible support throughout this whole story,_**

**_your wonderful reviews (over 200! I'd never dare to hope for that much even in my wildest dreams!),_**

**_your patience and your enthusiasm._**

**_I'll post this fic's trailer on youtube soon and who knows ... maybe I'll write something else in this fandom, someday..._**

**_Until then... Farewell and Thank you again, a thousand times thank you ... I will miss you all terribly ..._**


	39. BONUS

**BONUS !**

* * *

_**You can now watch the trailer for this story on youtube looking up "the prince &amp; the idiot Merlin fanfic trailer".**_

_**It is far from being perfect, of course, but at least you should be able to ride on the same "feelings" the fic carries through its three main themes : the music box rythm of the begining, far away memories ; then the young years with challenges, laughters, tears ; and finally the epic moments of the building of Albion. Somewhere in the middle, at the turning point, Gwaine who belongs to both times, the breaking point...**_

_**I hope you'll enjoy it : I made it thinking of all the comments so full of love you gave to this story while I was writing it. It really belongs to the reviewers and it is my humble gift of thanks to you lovely people, for your tremendous support...**_

* * *

_And then..._

* * *

_**So many ideas are crawling in my poor head as I try to hide from the heat and sun like a good otaku vampire that I am, and here is one that actually make sense...**_

_**A mini sequel of "the Prince &amp; the Idiot" (four chapters at most!) based on a happy mixing of episodes 3x03, 3x07, 4x04, 4x08, 5x02, but mostly inspired on 3x07 (Castle of Fyrien) et 5x02 (Arthur's Bane), starring our cuties from the end of the fanfic, who have grown up a little.**_

_**Emrys who doesn't remember much of his father, Albion aware of the role she will have to play in History yet being a teen, Mordred who has found his peace but still needs to understand where he belongs in the future Court.**_

Two years after Arthur's death, as they travel back from Gawant, his children and nephew get separated brutally from the rest of the group. They will have to face the woods, bandits and terrible choices... will they make the Once and Future King proud of them ?

_**Here is the begining, just to see what you think of the idea and if you'd like to know what happens next... ^^**_

* * *

**BRAVE**** LIKE THEM**

* * *

The sun flickers through the thick foliage, its light speckling the road tamped by hooves and wheels. Somewhere in the woods, a stream sings merrily, giving the hot summer day an illusion of coolness.

The travelers are moving in a disciplined way.

First the scouts, weapons in hand, wearing sleeveless leather jackets, their spry mounts dancing as if they were fully rested. Then four Knights in long red cloaks protecting the Queen's white palfrey. Then Sir Perceval on his massive gelding, his hand on his sword though his square jaw is serene.

Behind him, four other armored knights escorting the prince and princess, then the dozing Dolma, the yawing nanny, five packhorses and finally two riders to watch the back.

This is a relatively small party: the trip was a simple courtesy visit and the roads are safe between Camelot and the realm of Gawant.

Guinevere's back is straight even after hours of riding. She looks beautiful in the stunning aubergine silk dress flooding over the embroidered harness of her palfrey. Her dark curls are braided in a crown on her head, held by a simple headband adorned with jewels and gathered in a net on her graceful neck. Time weaved silver threads in her hair. Over the years, soft curves have settled on her hips and thin wrinkles now hem her mouth and the corners of her eyes.

The gray and white greyhound of the Queen is trotting beside her, his tongue hanging out. Well trained, the dog does not slow down to sniff anything on the roadside. His ears only twitch a little when he hears the muffled sound of a doe bounding away.

\- "Are we there yet?" Emrys asks in a high-pitched voice.

Guinevere simply turns round and offers him a patient smile, but Sir Leon, the blond knight with a dreadful scar across his face who rides beside the little boy, bends over to him.

\- "We'll be home soon, Your Highness", he says gently, as if he was not tired of repeating the same thing for about two hours.

Albion rolls her eyes and sighs dramatically, while Mordred stifles a smirk.

Both reactions do not get lost on the prince who glowers at them.

They have been travelling for five hours now and he has more than enough of sitting on his pony without being able to gallop or stop whenever he wants.

He's hot, he's thirsty, his buttocks are sore and he finds this all very unfair. The visit to Gawant was terribly boring for a six years old child: no one of his age to play with, two days of endless discussions and courtesies during which he sat on the edge of his seat and swung his legs despite the wrathful glares of the Dolma and the supplicants glances of his nanny, a banquet with only courtly love songs and _no_ jugglers – not _even_ a dancing bear.

Real torture.

\- "Next time, I'll stay at the castle", he grumbles sulkily.

\- "As if", retorts Albion. "Mother said ..."

Her little brother hastens to complete the sentence at full speed, pinching his nose.

\- "_You'reaprinceandprincesdon'tgettodowhattheywantonedayyou'llunderstandwhyit__'sharderforyouthanforothers_". He sucks in a breath then pulls his tongue to his sister. "I _know_ what Mother said."

\- "Well then", she shrugs.

The child's blue eyes sparkle with anger.

\- "Even _you_ don't do what's _right_ all the time!"

\- "I do what's _necessary_", corrects Albion with another exasperated and grandiloquent sigh. "I act every bit as I'm meant to, I'll have you know. I did _not_ lose my temper and I did _not_ go horseriding with Lady Elena as I wished to, because _someone_ had to keep company to this Blodwen of Gawant. You have _no__ idea_ how her conversation is boring. She is a contemptuous and ignorant _plague_."

Guinevere's voice reaches them, calm but full of warnings.

\- "Albion Pendragon."

\- "She spoke ill of my favorite books when she hadn't even _read_ them, Mother!" exclaims the girl, outraged. "I _longed_ to tell her she was being rather ridiculous, but I didn't say _a word_ and I even let her simper and jabber to her heart content about a Sir Richard who seems to be an absolute _prat_! Mother, I was _an example _of virtue and diplomacy, let me say what I want now that she's no longer there to hear it! "

Mordred hides his snicker behind a cough and focuses on the sun dappling in gold the violets on the roadside.

Guinevere sighs and shakes her head.

Albion scowls and sags on her hackney, which earns her a reproachful _ahem_ from the Dolma.

The princess is sixteen. She has a triangular face, long honeyed hair cascading in soft curls over her shoulders and amber eyes sparkling with life. She is wearing a dark blue brocade dress with slashed cream sleeves, which emphasizes her adolescent grace and yet conceals her woman's curves, and a crafted leather belt girdled low on her hips. Her feet, that she hates, are shod with embroidered ballerinas. When she smiles, her endearingly pointy teeth give her the stance of a young wolf.

She is very different from her brother, first because of her porcelain complexion contrasting with his mate skin, but also in her morphology. She is slender but small, he will be tall and sturdy as was their father, this can already be seen in the shape of his shoulders and his well-developed chest for a child this age. An avalanche of dark locks brush Emrys' chubby cheeks. He has long eyelashes and eyes as blue as a clear winter sky, harmonized with his linen surcoat adorned with the Pendragon crest. He is dressed like a little man, with spurs, a tiny dagger in his belt and a velvet cap jauntily set on his cute head.

Their cousin, who rides next to them, is nineteen and the youngest knight of Camelot, dubbed by Arthur himself as he was dying on a lake shores after the Battle of Camlann against the Saxons. Mordred is a pale young man with eyes of a fugitive azure, nuanced in jasper and gold like the reflection of a rainbow in a puddle. His mop of black curls and his round face give him an air of the child he never was, grown up too soon to protect his mother. He rides as regally as the queen, squaring his shoulders in his chainmail coat like Sir Leon, splendid and proud with his red cloak billowing over his white horse, keeping his gloved hand on his sword as Sir Perceval does.

They are called "the children of the king". One day the weight of the world will rest on their shoulders. But for now this future is far from their thoughts.

* * *

**_TO BE CONTINUED_**


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